


Single Riders Won’t Stay Single

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A whole lot of puns, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-07-15 05:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16056413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Emma Swan gets in the "single riders" line for a rollercoaster only to be paired with a handsome stranger for what turns out to be the ride of her life.





	1. Chapter One

 

Here are some facts:

 

Emma Swan loves rollercoasters.

 

Emma Swan has never been on a rollercoaster.

 

Emma Swan gets to ride her first rollercoaster today.

 

Emma Swan is supposed to be riding her first rollercoaster with her best friend Mary Margaret Blanchard.

 

Emma Swan is not riding her first rollercoaster with Mary Margaret Blanchard because Mary Margaret Blanchard is a traitor who chose to spend the day with a boy instead of riding rollercoasters with Emma.

 

Now she realizes that this makes her sound like she is a teenage girl whose best friend is experiencing her first crush, but none of that is true. Emma is twenty-eight years old, and her best friend is wandering around Universal Studios in the hot depths of Florida with her fiancée David while Emma waits in the single rider line for the Incredible Hulk.

 

If only she was waiting in the single _rider_ line for Bruce Banner.

 

David and Mary Margaret offered to come with her, but neither of them is too big on rollercoasters even if this whole trip to Orlando was Mary Margaret’s idea, so she knows that they were relieved when she said it was fine, she can go alone. She’ll just join them later when they’ve gotten all of the cutesy couple’s pictures out of the way.

 

Who is she kidding? They’ll be doing that all day.

 

So really, even if she was a little pissed at them for so easily agreeing to let her go off on her own, it’s a blessing in disguise because the single rider line is basically the express line for those not willing to pay for the express passes – she is one of those people because _damn_ _everything here is expensive_. This way at least she can speed through the line and get paired with a random group of three people without the hassle of getting sunburned just waiting in line. If she’s going to get sunburned, it’s going to be because she spends the day in the sun doing more than one supposedly fun thing.

 

Plus, you know, if she ends up being terrified (because this isn’t exactly an easy rollercoaster to start off with but Emma dives deep or doesn’t dive at all), then she can scream bloody murder and never have to see the person sitting next to her again.

 

Anxiety is starting to build in her chest the closer she gets to the front of the line, and by the time she’s at least twenty people away from experiencing her first rollercoaster, it’s firmly lodged in her throat. _She’s fucking nervous_. But she’s also pumped, and she’s not turning back now.

 

Emma Swan is not a quitter.

 

When she can see the regular line full of friends, families, and couples, she absentmindedly wonders who she’ll get paired up with. It’s not like she has her phone to look at (this thing goes upside down, and she’s not buying a new phone for when it falls out of her pocket) and if she watches how the people go upside down one more time she may back out despite her conviction not to.

 

Emma Swan is sometimes a quitter.

 

So it’s people watching or zilch, and she can’t help it when her eyes zero in on these two guys who have to be brothers – though one is stockier with curlier hair while the other is leaner with straight hair – and the woman who’s with them.

 

They’re about the right distance away to be lined up with her, and considering it’s either them or the group of teenagers where one of them just picked his nose, she really hopes it’s the brothers and what seems to be the curly-haired guy’s girlfriend or wife or whatever. At least she hopes so because she just kissed him, and that would be weird if she was dating the other one.

 

She doesn’t have much time to contemplate it though because the cart is rolling into the station, and she’s being herded into the fences they put you in before you can get onto the ride. When the brother with the straight hair ends up directly behind her and the couple behind him, she has to hold herself back from doing a victory dance.

 

She obviously does some kind of anxiety dance instead because he’s talking to her unprompted, and she was not expecting that.

 

“This your first time?”

 

Oh fuck he’s British. Why is that so hot?

 

“How can you tell?”

 

_What kind of question is that, Emma? You probably look like you could pee your pants. Oh hell, she’s totally talking to herself in her head right now, isn’t she? At least it’s not out loud._

 

He chuckles, just the smallest laugh, but she still hears it. “You seem a bit too nervous to _just_ be excited. And I don’t know many people in the single rider line who are in it unwillingly, so just a guess.”

 

“Aren’t you perceptive?”

 

He smiles at her, and it’s obviously the Florida heat that’s causing her to go insane because the way his white teeth flash contrasted to the darkness of his stubble is as hot as this Florida sun. Did she really just think that? Yep, she’s definitely having a heat stroke or something.

 

“You’re a bit of an open book, love.”

 

“It’s Emma.”

 

He smiles again.

 

“Killian.”

 

Eventually the gates are opened and she and British dude Killian and his probable brother and his probable brother’s girlfriend are strapped into the ride, and wow she should have picked a kiddie ride for her first time. Screw going big or going home. She wants the medium option right about now. But it’s too late, and they’re inching up the tracks without her permission. She really hopes this guy isn’t some kind of preacher who takes offense to foul language.

 

There’s definitely going to be some foul language.

 

They go up ever so slowly and she thinks her anxiety is calming down, but then Killian looks over at her, and wow he has blue eyes, and says something she can’t quite make out.

 

“What?” she yells over the racketing of the ride.

 

He flashes her that smile again, and she really hopes she doesn’t throw up on him. That would be mortifying.

 

“You know what they say, darling, you never forget your first.”

 

And then they’re off.

 

She’s not really sure what else happens while she’s up there. It’s all a literal and figurative blur. All she knows is that she started praying in the middle of it and then by the end was sure that she’d cancelled out any good deeds coming her way by the obscenities that flew from her mouth. She’s pretty sure British dude was laughing at her, but she couldn’t tell over the ringing in her ears.

 

Once they start their slow (okay, no part of it is slow but at least she’s not hanging upside down again) descent back to ground, she feels the air leave her lungs and she can’t decide if that was awesome or terrifying. She’s honestly kind of in a daze. Or maybe an adrenaline rush. She has no idea what’s even happening until she feels warm skin on her hand and British dude…Killian is helping her out of her seat and back onto solid ground.

 

“Was it everything you dreamed?”

 

“What now?”

 

“The rollercoaster?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I guess so. Though I do feel a little woozy.”

 

“You just don’t have your land legs back yet, lass. Come this way, and we can find a seat.”

 

“Little brother, did you pick up a stray?”

 

“Younger brother,” British dude one (why does she keep forgetting his name? Maybe the ride scrambled her brain) says to British dude two. “And this is Emma. First time thrill enthusiast who needs a bit of assistance getting her land legs back.”

 

Score. She was right about them being brothers. She’s not a private investigator for nothing.

 

“Are you here by yourself, Emma?”

 

“No, my friends are here, but they’re more interested in walking around and seeing everything than helping me check this off my mental bucket list.” She moves to sit down at an empty picnic table, Killian sliding in next to her while the others sit on the seat opposite. This is weird, right? People aren’t just this nice. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your names.”

 

“Liam Jones,” he reaches his hand across the table, and she takes it to shake, “and this is my wife Belle. And obviously you met my little brother Killian.”

 

“I’m his _younger_ brother, lass. Smaller in absolutely no way.”

 

Did he just wink at her? Is he flirting with her? Does she want him to flirt with her?

 

She totally does.

 

“Where are you guys from? If you don’t mind me asking of course.”

 

“Originally, right outside of London. Currently, Boston.”

 

“No fucking way. I’m from Boston.”

 

“What are the odds?”

 

“Pretty small, I’m guessing.”

 

She can feel Killian’s eyes on her, and she finds herself looking down at her lap to hide her smile.

 

“Love,” he says, and when she looks over at him he’s scratching behind his ear, “not to be forward, but would you like to walk around with us until you meet up with your friends?”

 

“Really? I mean, you guys don’t think I’m a serial killer or something like that?”

 

“You could be, but I don’t think you’re going to murder us in the middle of a park.”

 

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

Emma, despite her usual apprehension to people, ends up spending the rest of her afternoon with the Jones clan. David and Mary Margaret decided to go back to the hotel (for what she’s going to ignore because they are definitely sharing a room with her), and she finds that she doesn’t mind.

 

Killian, she discovers, is a damn professor at Harvard. He’s got a doctorate in English, and suddenly her high school diploma doesn’t feel so important anymore. It’s not that he makes her feel stupid or inferior or anything like that. In fact, he seems almost embarrassed about his job, and that doesn’t make any sense. But he just waves her off when she makes a comment about him being some kind of genius, and she can already tell that Killian Jones, for all his bravado, doesn’t like talking about himself.

 

He does talk about himself, though, because none of them have express passes, and the lines here are long. Like, what has driven so many people to come to a theme park in the hottest part of Florida in the middle of the summer?

 

“I wanted to be a pirate as a child,” he admits as they stand in line for Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey, “but I quickly gave that up to wanting to be a wizard when these books came out, especially being a kid in Britain who very much resembled Daniel Radcliffe. Obviously, though, neither of those things were possible, so I became a boring professor who waxes poetic about novels more ‘refined’ than these and the English language as a whole.”

 

“I mean, I wanted to own a bakery so I could eat all the food, but I’m a private investigator.”

 

“Why not a baker?”

 

She’s not going to tell the whole truth to that, so she says the simple one.

 

“I can’t bake.”

 

He laughs at that, a fully belly laugh that has him throwing his head back, the sun glinting off his beard to show off the red in it. So he wouldn’t be a true Black Beard pirate if he had gone with that profession.

 

“Don’t let that hold you back, Swan.”

 

“I’d rather not give all of Boston food poisoning.”

 

“I’d eat your pastries.”

 

“Is that an innuendo?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

“Perhaps I would.”

 

The Harry Potter ride is awesome, and if the line wasn’t so long, she’d totally go on it again. But the line is long, and her stomach most definitely rumbled while they were in line – _now would be a good time for that bakery, Swan_ – so the group is in yet another line, but this time to get something to drink.

 

She and Belle get butter beers while Killian and Liam get actual beers, and they walk around with them until they find something other than a turkey leg to eat. At one point the foam from the sweet drink gets on her chin, and Killian wipes it off with his thumb, a gentle caress that has her heart rate beating at a pace similar to when she was on the Hulk.

 

They end up near the Jurassic Park rides, and despite Killian protesting to the unhealthiness of it all – _you just drank a beer, Jones –_ they eat chicken in the shape of dinosaurs with children all under the age of ten. Killian buys her meal despite her protests, and is she on a date with a guy she just met?

 

She kind of hopes that she is.

 

There’s a fake giant dinosaur to take pictures next to, and even if you’re not supposed to climb on top of it, Killian lifts her on his shoulders so that she can climb up there to take a picture. It’s worth it when the security guard yells at her to get down because Killian grabs her by the waist, and his hands are so damn warm underneath the material of her tank top. She doesn’t have time to think about it, though, because she’s thinking about how he’s grabbing her hand and jogging away from where they totally almost got kicked out of the park.

 

By the time they get back to where Liam and Belle are waiting for them, he doesn’t let go of her hand, even when Liam gives them a pointed glance and smirks. She almost lets go then, but his grip tightens and he smiles down at her with the softest look on his face.

 

They wander around for a few more hours, and she already knows that despite her constant application of sunscreen, her skin is going to be pink tomorrow. It’s so damn hot, and she needs some relief from this. That’s when they come across a blessed water ride, and it’s not even a question as to if they’re going to go on it or not.

 

They should have noticed, though, how everyone who rides ends up wet – _that’s what the women always tell me, love_ – because while the relief from the heat is welcome, they’re all soaked through their clothes. She thinks it’ll just make for an uncomfortable evening, but then she notices that Killian is staring at her with a gaze that could almost be described as adoring. But she’s distracted by the fact that the water has made his gray t-shirt cling to his abs and his hair fall flat on his head. It’s hot, and she’s not even ashamed to admit it.

 

It’s not until later when Belle offers to take her to buy another shirt that she realizes that her nipples were very much on display because of the cold water against her shirt. She doesn’t care about that, but it does explain why Killian was staring at her earlier. She can’t complain. She was doing the same to him.

 

So the four of them walk around in soaked through clothes for the rest of the afternoon, riding several other rides but no other rollercoasters until they’ve come full circle and are back at the Hulk.

 

“What do you say, love? Want to go another round?”

 

She has to pump herself up for it, but she says yes.

 

This time, though, she doesn’t wait in the single rider’s line, and when they get strapped in, Killian places his hand over hers on the bars and squeezes, holding onto her tightly.

 

This time the ride is a lot more enjoyable, and Emma manages to keep her eyes open the entire time, even laughing when Killian waggles his eyebrows at her at the people behind them screaming. She doesn’t scream, but her insides definitely feel like they’ve been shuffled around for more than one reason.

 

Eventually the two of them pair off without Liam and Belle, and today really has been – pun intended – a rollercoaster of a day.

 

They somehow end up in Margaritaville, because when in Florida, right? Cheeseburgers, margaritas, and Jimmy Buffet songs are all over the place, and she can barely hear Killian through the music but she doesn’t care. He just slides his chair closer to her, and whisper shouts in her ear, sending shivers down her spine that have nothing to do with the alcohol running through her.

 

“So Swan,” he says later that night when they’re walking along the lake back to their hotels across the street from the resorts (they could have gotten on a bus, but neither of them wanted the night to end), “do you think you’re going to ride more rollercoasters or was today just a one time thing?”

 

She bumps his shoulder, their hands still interlaced like that’s normal, and keeps walking until they come to a crosswalk.

 

“I think I’d be willing to do it all again, but only with the right riding partner. You know any good places to go near Boston?”

 

“I feel like I could find somewhere to go, if I have the right riding partner as well.”

 

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll get paired up with someone cool in the single riders line.”

 

He turns to her then, eyes still blue even in the darkness, and releases her hand so that he can cup her face. Her breath doesn’t hitch, she swears.

 

“Emma, I’d really only like to go with you.”

 

And then his lips are against hers, so soft and warm and everything like she’s imagined – because she one hundred percent imagined it – and she almost sighs in relief. It doesn’t last long, but that’s okay, and when he pulls back he rests his forehead against hers, the heat of his skin running all the way through her.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I quite fancy you when you’re not yelling at ride engineers for giving you a heart attack.”

 

She laughs against his lips before pulling back and resting her head on his shoulder as the two of them finally cross the crosswalk on the way back to their hotels.

 

Rollercoasters aren’t the only thing Emma rides that night.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this isn't anymore story than part one, but it's a specific request from @kmomof4 for "Killian's point of view + smut." So here's a little bit of a longer ride ;)

Despite what most people consider Harvard professors, Killian is not a stick in the mud with his nose always stuck in a book. Yes, his nose is often stuck in a book, but he enjoys doing entertaining things. He likes Netflix, boating, going to bars with his friends. He’s your normal man in his mid-thirties.

 

And being a normal man in his mid-thirties (cough thirty-five cough) he finds it a bit ridiculous to be spending one of his two weeks off from lecturing and researching and writing at the blazing inferno that is Universal Studios in Florida in the middle of July.

 

Okay, that’s not true. This whole thing is spectacular for a kid who grew up without anything but his books and his brother. It’s like his imagination coming to life in a physical form. He just does not enjoy the fact that his imagination is coming to life while he’s acting as the third wheel with his brother and his brother’s new wife – the new part making Killian willingly get his own room for the week despite the cost. He loves Liam and Belle. He really does. He just feels awkward when they’re in lines, and the attendant asks how many only for them to say three and for Killian to be shuffled in next to a random stranger from the single rider line.

 

Killian doesn’t mind sitting next to strangers, really, but the last two guys either never put on deodorant or it melted away within their first five minutes outside in this bloody sun.

 

“Killian, lighten up.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, Liam.”

 

“You look like you just drank sour milk.”

 

“Bloody hell, that’s disgusting.”

 

“Exactly. So get that sour look off your face, and start enjoying the day.”

 

“I _am_ enjoying the day. I think I’d enjoy it more if we finally got to ride some of the rollercoasters instead of this 4D stuff. It’s giving me motion sickness.”

 

“But a rollercoaster won’t?”

 

“Absolutely not. That’s actual adrenaline and movement. Not fake movement.”

 

“Whatever you say, little brother.”

 

“Younger.”

 

So he finally convinces Liam and Belle to wait in line with him for the Incredible Hulk, and despite the fact that he’s really regretting his choice of wearing jeans, he’s finally, _actually_ enjoying his time here, laughing as Belle tells a story of how one of her friends lost his shoes on this ride and had to walk around in Homer Simpson slippers for the rest of the day.

 

By the time they finally reach the front of the line, he sees that the single riders have already been placed in the gates (it’s like being a farm animal here, really) and he’s not one to ask for much, but he’d lose his shoes and walk around in Homer Simpson slippers to be seated next to the blonde that’s standing at one of the gates. He’s only gotten a glimpse of her face, but she’s stunning, long tan legs and toned arms shown off by the tank top she has on, blonde hair twisted in a braid that looks so intricate that he’s fascinated by how she could have possibly done that herself. And he does make the assumption that she’s here by herself if she’s riding in the single rider line. Though, how that woman could be left alone is a mystery to him.

 

When the attendant tells him to go to gate seven, he almost runs there because he already knows that’s where the blonde woman is. Why is he so excited just to sit next to her? It’s not like rollercoasters are prime locations for getting to talk to someone.

 

When he gets behind her, he’s almost a full head taller than her, and for a moment he wonders if she’s even tall enough to ride this ride ( _of course she is, you idiot_ ).

 

Then he wonders if she’s tall enough to ride his ride, and he has to mentally chastise himself for that because wow Killian.

 

He’s a bit lost in his own mind when he notices that she keeps switching her weight from one side to the other, obviously some kind of nervous dance. And then he’s speaking before he’s given himself permission.

 

“This your first time?”

 

She flips around to look at him, and wow, she’s beautiful. He waxes poetic for his job, but her eyes are something else entirely. That’s cheesy, right? Right.

 

“How can you tell?”

 

She has nerves practically rolling off of her. You’d have to be the dullest person alive not to realize she’s nervous. He laughs under his breath, trying not to make her think that he’s laughing at her because while he is, it’s not in a bad way.

 

“You seem a bit too nervous to _just_ be excited. And I don’t know many people in the single rider line who are in it unwillingly, so just a guess.”

 

She studies him for a moment, and this is already the best ride of the day.

“Aren’t you perceptive?”

 

He smiles at her, and she smiles back. This is, in honor of the Hulk, incredible.

 

“You’re a bit of an open book, love.”

 

“It’s Emma.”

 

_Emma_ , he thinks. He likes that.

 

“Killian.”

 

Eventually they open the gates for them to load into the giant cart, and Emma’s nervous energy is rubbing off on him. Her foot is tapping against the floor so quickly that all he wants to do is put his hand over her knee and hold her down. But that’s probably not his brightest idea. He doesn’t know this woman.

 

The ride begins its ascent, and he looks over at Emma to see how she’s doing only to find that she’s already looking at him, nervous smile that’s incredibly cute. He wants to tell her so, but he decides on something much more inappropriate but somehow less forward.

 

“You never forget your first.”

 

She doesn’t hear him because she yells, “what?”

 

He flashes her a smile. “You know what they say, darling, you never forget your first.”

 

And then they’re off.

 

The ride is fucking incredible, and he starts laughing in the middle of it when Liam lets out a squeal to his right at the same time Emma lets out a squeal to his left. He and Belle seem to be the only two in this row to be having any fun, but he’s not going to complain. This is the best time he’s had all day, and he’s definitely not thinking about the realities of how safe this is when he’s catapulting through the air (safely strapped into the cart of course).

 

By the time they’re back on the ground and the restraints are being raised over them, he looks over to Emma to see that she’s got this glazed over look on her face, so he takes it upon himself to help her up because she’s suddenly very zombie-like.

 

“Was it everything you dreamed?” he asks her when he’s got her past the exit gate.

 

“What now?”  


“The rollercoaster?”

 

“Oh, yeah. I guess so. Though I do feel a little woozy.”

 

“You just don’t have your land legs back yet, lass. Come this way, and we can find a seat.”

 

“Little brother, did you pick up a stray?”

 

Shit, he completely forgot about Liam. He can tell that Emma is looking between the two of them, and he wonders what she’s thinking about.

 

“Younger brother,” he corrects for about the seventh time that day. “And this is Emma. First time thrill enthusiast who needs a bit of assistance getting her land legs back.”

 

“Are you here by yourself, Emma?” Liam asks her as they find an empty picnic bench to sit down on, Killian sliding into the same side as Emma.

 

“No,” she answers, messing with the ends of her braid, “my friends are here, but they’re more interested in walking around and seeing everything than helping me check this off my mental bucket list. I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your names.”

 

“Liam Jones,” his brother reaches to shake her hand, “and this is my wife Belle. And obviously you met my little brother Killian.”

 

“I’m his _younger_ brother, lass. Smaller in absolutely no way.”

 

He winks at her out of instinct, and he’s really got to stop with the innuendos. He’s been gifted with a chance to talk to this woman, and he’s going to mess it up just for having a cheeky sense of humor and trying to flirt with her right off the bat.

 

Flush rises on her cheeks, but he convinces himself that’s just from the sun.

 

“Where are you guys from? If you don’t mind me asking of course.”

 

“Originally, right outside of London. Currently, Boston.”

 

Emma slaps her hands on her thighs, and he swears that he only looks down at her legs because of the slap. Not to admire her legs.

 

“No fucking way. I’m from Boston.”

 

Who does he send his personalized thank you card to for all of this? Because he’d very much like to send one for his luck right now.

 

“What are the odds?” Belle asks.

 

“Pretty small, I’m guessing.”

 

He can’t help but scratch behind his ear, a known nervous tick of his, before asking, “love, not to be forward, but would you like to walk around with us until you meet up with your friends?”

 

“Really? I mean, you guys don’t think I’m a serial killer or something like that?”

 

“You could be, but I don’t think you’re going to murder us in the middle of a park.”

 

She shrugs, a genuine smile on her face. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

So by some miracle, he ends up spending the day with Emma Swan (thank you Belle for asking for her last name because he somehow missed that). When she gets a text saying that her friends are going back to the hotel, and she decides that she’s going to stay with him, he wants to send them a thank you card as well. Possibly a gift basket.

 

She asks him about what he does for a living when they’re in the blasted line for the Harry Potter ride (he’s pumped, but he’s trying to go with that whole cool, calm, and collected thing right now), and he’s never quite been comfortable talking about how he’s a professor. People assume him to be judgmental with his nose always stuck in the air (or a book as previously discussed), and they never give him a chance to prove them wrong. So he goes for something much more lighthearted.

 

“I wanted to be a pirate as a child, but I quickly gave that up to wanting to be a wizard when these books came out, especially being a kid in Britain who very much resembled Daniel Radcliffe. Obviously, though, neither of those things were possible, so I became a boring professor who waxes poetic about novels more ‘refined’ than these and the English language as a whole.”

 

He trails off a bit at the end, but he doesn’t have too much time to think about it because Emma’s talking.

 

“I mean, I wanted to own a bakery so I could eat all the food, but I’m a private investigator.”

 

“Why not a baker?”

 

“I can’t bake.”

 

The way she delivers her line, completely deadpan, he can’t help but laugh, the chuckles reverberating through his entire body as he throws his head back to laugh.

 

“Don’t let that hold you back, Swan.”

 

“I’d rather not give all of Boston food poisoning.”

 

“I’d eat your pastries.”

 

“Is that an innuendo?”

 

_Absolutely, one hundred percent is,_ he thinks.

 

Instead he says, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

“Perhaps I would.”

 

Emma may be the most charming person he’s ever met, and he’s sure she’s got no idea how captivating she is to him. After the Harry Potter ride the four of them stop to get something to drink, and when the foam from Emma’s butter beer gets on her chin, it’s like instinct for him to wipe it off with his thumb. He barely knows the girl, but he’s comfortable doing that.

 

He’s also comfortable buying her dinosaur-shaped chicken for fifteen dollars, and he’s not saying that this kind of feels like the most spontaneous date in the history of the world, but it kind of does.

 

He’s glad for it.

 

After they eat, Emma finds a fake dinosaur where people are taking pictures, and the excitement that flashes in her eyes makes her look much younger than she is ( _I’m twenty eight, Jones, but I have an old soul_ ). There’s a sign about not climbing on top of the dinosaur, but he’s feeling a little rebellious so he helps Emma up there only to be chastised by a security guard who seems to have popped up out of nowhere. It’s worth it, though, because when he’s helping Emma down, his hands end up on the flat of her stomach underneath her tank top and feeling his skin against hers is as exhilarating as any thrill ride could be.

 

It’s even better when he takes hold of her hand and drags her away from the spot of their “crime” so they don’t get kicked out of the park.

 

He interlaces their fingers at some point along the way, and when Liam smirks at them when they catch up to he and Belle, Killian only holds on tighter.

 

They stay connected like that for the rest of the day, and no part of him understands how this has all happened. He’s not stupid enough to complain, though.

  
He’s really not stupid enough to complain when they get on a water ride to relieve themselves from the heat, even when they end up soaked through their clothes, his jeans even more uncomfortable than before.

 

“We really should have noticed how everyone who rides ends up wet,” Emma comments when they’re trying to dry off, and he’s so distracted from the way that her nipples pebble against the material of her tank top that he doesn’t even realize he’s saying the next words until they’re out of his mouth.

 

“That’s what women always tell me, love.”

 

He’s about ready to go dive in the water to stop himself from these ridiculous come ons that keep slipping from his mouth, but Emma’s laughing. If she thinks he’s funny, then maybe it’s okay. He’d like to hear her laugh like that for the rest of the day. He wonders if he can make that happen even after today.

 

The four of them are walking around to try to dry off in the heat when they come across the Hulk again.

 

“What do you say, love? Want to go another round?”

 

“Let’s go.”

 

This time, though, he and Emma wait in the same line and when he wants to touch her to calm her nerves, he can.

 

He’s going to send another thank you card to Liam and Belle because they wander off on their own to just leave he and Emma together. No part of it is awkward despite their newness of knowing each other. They always seem to have something to talk about, and this is a good day.

 

After dinner – he can never listen to Jimmy Buffet again – the two of them find themselves walking along the path that leads outside of the parks and to the resort hotels. Neither of them are staying at those, but they are staying in walking distance from the property so it’s basically a no brainer that they’re going to walk back together.

 

“So Swan,” he says, dramatically swinging their hands as they walk, “do you think you’re going to ride more rollercoasters or was today just a one time thing?”

 

She bumps his shoulder playfully when they reach the crosswalk that leads across the street to their hotels.

 

“I think I’d be willing to do it all again, but only with the right riding partner. You know any good places to go near Boston?”

 

“I feel like I could find somewhere to go, if I have the right riding partner as well.”

 

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll get paired up with someone cool in the single riders line.”

 

He turns to her then, and she’s so beautiful even after a day of being in the hot sun with thousands of other sweaty people. This woman is beautiful and witty and wonderful in all the right ways, and all he wants to do is kiss her.

 

He takes a brave step and cups her face with his hands, feeling the soft skin under the pads of his fingertips. He hears her breath hitch, and he thinks that bodes well in his favor.

 

“Emma, I’d really only like to go with you.”

 

And then he’s going for it, lightly pressing his lips against hers, soft and warm and utterly delicious in a way that has him sighing in relief. He doesn’t want to push his luck, so he pulls back, but not too far, resting his forehead against hers and looking down at her as their noses rub together.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I quite fancy you when you’re not yelling at ride engineers for giving you a heart attack.”

 

He captures her laugh with his lips before pulling back from her and letting her rest her head on his shoulder as the cross the road on the way back to their hotels. When their paths split, they both stop and awkwardly fidget as they try to figure out a way to say goodbye.

 

He doesn’t want to say goodbye.

 

“You know,” he croons, taking a step closer to her like she’s some kind of magnet, “I’ve got a king sized bed all to myself tonight. No roommates who skipped out on a day of a theme park to sleep together. I’d think there’s enough room for an extra person if that extra person would be amenable to that?”

 

“She would.”

 

“Oh lass, I wasn’t talking about you,” he teases even as he wraps his arm around her waist and guides her to his hotel.

 

He’s had at least ten minutes to get acquainted with the fact that Emma’s coming back to his room, but he still feels nervous when he swipes his key card to enter his room, Emma following closely behind. This isn’t a normal way for him to invite a woman back to his room, no alcohol flowing through his veins, the beer having run its course, and the presence of actual feelings simmering just below the surface.

 

“So welcome to the luxury of the Hyatt. I have a bed and a bathroom and a television.”

 

“Oh everything a girl could ever need,” she jokes, settling down at the end of the bed to take off her sneakers. He does the same because he doesn’t know what else to do.

 

They’re silent for a moment, and it’s not an awkward silence, but a tense silence.

“Emma, I know that I basically implied that I was inviting you back here to _sleep_ with me, but if you want to actually just sleep, that’s more than okay.”

 

“That’s very gentlemanly of you.”

 

“I’m always a gentleman.”

 

She laughs, and it’s still such a beautiful sound, before turning to him at his position on the bed and crawling onto his lap, straddling his thighs with her own. He’s not really sure what’s happening, but when Emma runs her thumb over the scar on his cheek from where he fell on the sidewalk as a child, his breath hitches.

 

“Killian Jones, you’ve got to take a girl to dinner before she puts out. Don’t you know that?”

 

“I’m entirely sure that I bought you several different meals today, love.”

 

“Ah, but what are those ridiculously expensive meals compared to the seven dollar pizza I want us to order at,” she leans over him to look at the bedside clock, “one in the morning.”

 

He laughs, kissing her forehead before grabbing onto her hips. “So what you’re telling me is that if I get you some pizza, you’ll, um –”

 

“Have sex with you?”

 

He nods.

 

“It depends on how good the pizza is.”

 

“You are a wonderful little minx, you know that?”

 

She pecks his lips before crawling off his lap. “So you tell me.”

 

He has to call five different pizza places to find somewhere that will deliver, and by the time a guy who looks very unhappy to be delivering pizzas arrives, it’s nearing two in the morning and Emma is sitting in bed wearing just his t-shirt while watching a movie on pay-per-view.

 

“And I bring you your pizza, milady,” he says as he puts the box on a towel on the bed, crawling in next to her.

 

“Thank you, good sir.”

 

He’s spent an entire day getting to know this woman he met by pure chance, and while he already knows all of these fantastic qualities she possesses (she’s spontaneous, witty, kind, wicked intelligent), it’s amazing to see her eating pizza in bed at two in the morning while laughing at the second Deadpool movie that he paid a ridiculous amount of money for them to watch.

 

“Today has been a really fantastic day.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m now kind of glad David and Mary Margaret skipped out on me today.”

 

“Oh, I plan on sending them a thank you card and possibly a gift basket.”

 

“Mary Margaret likes chocolate.”

 

A laugh passes through his lips, and he _likes_ this woman. Really likes her even if he’s just known her for a day. So he presses a kiss to the side of her head and wraps his arm around her shoulder only for her to move out of his embrace and over his lap again, her lack of pants not doing anything to help him contain himself.

 

“So before we do anything else, because I definitely want to do something else, I just want to make it clear that I’m not a pizza prostitute.”

 

“A pizza prostitute,” he says slowly, testing the words in his mind.

 

“Yeah, like trading sex for pizza.”

 

“Is that a thing?”

 

Straddling his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck, she dips her head down to kiss him, a gentle press of her lips against his as he runs his hands up the soft skin of her legs, tempting Emma to do a very pointed roll of her hips on his lap. It’s fucking amazing.

 

“It could be,” she admits when she pulls back from his lips before she trails her lips across his jaw, hot open mouthed kisses that with the continual rolling of her hips have him almost all the way hard. “But I,” she slants her lips over his again, this time with more pressure and a hint of tongue that has him groaning, “want to do this because I like you, pizza and dinosaur chicken nuggets a nonfactor.”

 

He can’t help but run his hand up underneath her – his – shirt, feeling the soft skin of her back before coming around to cup the sides of her waist right under her breasts. “You have a very healthy diet, darling.”

 

“Hmmm,” she hums, still peppering kiss across his face as his thumbs brush the underside of her breasts, a slow teasing that he can tell is affecting her more than she wants to admit. “Not all of us eat salads when at a theme park, Killian.”

 

“Trying to keep my stamina up.”

 

“You’re going to need it.”

 

She captures his laugh with her lips and her tongue, the feeling of finally having his tongue mix with hers sending shivers down his spine that has him threading his hand through the hair at the base of her head for purchase. Nothing about it is as soft or as slow as any of their earlier kisses, and when he gently bites Emma’s bottom lip, she whimpers and that sound sends all of his blood down south.

 

He can’t quite believe this is happening, the pleasure both dulling and heightening all of his senses, and when Emma runs her hands through his hair, he lets out a guttural groan. That’s nothing compared to when she ever so slowly lifts her shirt over his head only for him to get confirmation that her breasts are glorious, the roundness of her breasts and the pink of her nipples more beautiful than any other sight he’s ever seen.

 

“You’re gorgeous, Swan,” he awes as he reaches to test the weight of her breasts in his hands, swiping his thumbs across her nipples and feeling them harden against his touch. “Bloody amazing, really.”

 

She doesn’t respond, just softly smiles at him from her position on his lap and reaches her hands underneath the cotton off his t-shirt to encourage him to take it off, and obviously he’s going to comply. He can feel the heat of her gaze as it moves over his chest to his abs to the trail of hair that runs beneath his pants.

 

“You’re gorgeous, Killian,” she repeats his words from a moment ago, running her hands through the soft hair of his chest. “Bloody amazing, really.” This time, though, she’s using a cheeky British accent, and he thinks he’s laughed more with this woman than he has in the past year of his life.

 

She rolls her hips against his again, and suddenly he’s craving the fast pace of their kiss earlier, so he flips them over so that Emma is on her back, hair spread out behind her on the bed, and he’s caging her in with his body, moving from kissing her lips to take a nipple into his mouth and biting down. Emma moans again, and that is a glorious sound he wants to hear again. So he bites down again before gently soothing the sensitive bud with his tongue while his other hand toys with her left breast so that it’s not lacking any attention.

 

He judges his speed and his caresses by the sounds emanating from Emma as he learns her body, kissing up and down her stomach before circling both of her nipples with his tongue. She seems to particularly like when he lavishes her breasts with his tongue, and he’s definitely going to remember that for future reference…he fully intends for there to be times when he’ll need this information in the future.

 

He’d be happy to taste Emma’s glorious body for the rest of his days, but his length is almost straining now as it’s nestled into apex of her thighs but not in the way he wants it to be. It doesn’t help when he bites onto her collarbone that she arches her back and her hips right into him.

 

“Killian,” she whines, and is it cliché for him to think that she’s both sexy and adorable at the same time? He doesn’t care. It’s true. She pushes her hips up into him again and _fuck that feels good_. “Killian, for the love of everything good in the world, please tell me you have a condom.”

 

“In my suitcase,” he whispers against her jaw as he nibbles the skin there.

 

“I’m not even going to question why you travel with a box of condoms on your trip with your brother and his wife, though, I will later, but I’d really appreciate it if you go get one right now.”

 

He springs away from her at such a speed that it would put the rides they went on today to shame. After shuffling through his suitcase to find the small box (not small condoms, thank you very much), he turns around, proud smile on his face and box in hand only to find that Emma has removed her underwear and is lying on the bed completely bare before him, her fingers running through her folds and opening herself up for him. That wipes the smile off his face as his jaw loosens in admiration.

 

“Will you get irritated if I repeat my earlier statement that you’re bloody brilliant?”

 

“No,” she laughs, removing her hands from her center and popping them into her mouth, and that may very well be the hottest thing he’s ever seen. When she’s finished sucking at her essence, she props herself up on her elbows as her feet dangling off the bed, “but I am very turned on right now, and I’d really appreciate it if you got inside me sometime soon.” She reaches her toe out to stick it in the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down ever so slightly until his length is exposed and bobbing against his stomach.

 

He can’t help his gasp when Emma runs her foot against him, and he can feel his cock twitch, throb really. Apparently Emma can see it because she smirks at him, hooking her finger to silently ask him to come closer, so he shucks his pants, condom still in hand, and moves to lean over her so that his hardness brushes with her softness, the wetness of it driving him insane.

 

She kisses him both like a woman who hasn’t been kissed in years and a woman who could kiss for years, and he wants to bask in this for a long time. But then she’s fiddling the condom out of his hand and asking him to lie on his back. When she begins rolling it down his length, he can do nothing but watch her and the way her hair, curly from the braid and the humidity, curtains her face as the sensations of her hands on his length run through him. When she’s finished she looks up at him through the darkness of her eyelashes, a timid smile on her face that seems so out of place for this confident woman that quickly transforms into a crooked smile when she straddles his hips and teases his tip through her folds.

 

“Emma,” he moans at the feel of it, the anticipation riding high, “darling, please.”

 

She leans down to kiss him as her hand guides him to her entrance before she’s sinking down ever so slowly until her wet heat is encasing him in ways of which he never could have dreamed.

 

“Bloody hell,” he grunts as Emma buries her head in the crook of his neck, kissing his pulse point as she takes a moment to adjust to him. “You feel so fantastic around me, amazing, brilliant.”

 

She laughs against his neck, and that’s amazing too. But then she’s lifting her hips, her walls dragging around him as her breasts brush against his chest with the movement. He lets her set the pace as her hips lift against his length and her ass slaps against his thighs, and he now knows that Emma Swan takes what she wants without question. He needs her to go a little faster, though, so he grabs her hip with one hand while the other buries itself into her hair, pulling her closer to him so that he can capture all of her gasps with his lips.

 

“Oh fuck,” she moans when he thrusts his hips up to meet her movements, building her higher and higher as they meet each other movement for movement.

 

“Good form, love,” he groans when she starts rolling her hips with his thrusts, and her laugh is buried by her gasp as she rides him. “You feel so bloody good around me, love. So tight, so wonderful.”

 

It’s bloody amazing like this, but he needs a change, so cups her waist and stops her movements, pulling her off of him so that she’s lying on her stomach. He tries not to take too much pride in the whine that emanates from her throat.

 

“Prop yourself up on your forearms, Swan.” She looks back at him with a _what the hell_ look, but he just smiles at her before leaning over her, kissing down her back until he palms her ass and licks a stripe through her folds. The guttural moan Emma lets out makes him do it again while continuing to rub at her ass. After she’s keyed up even more, he moves back to line herself up with her folds before ever so slowly sliding home, snapping into her while he holds her at her chest, the heaviness of her breasts a welcome weight in his hand while his other hand supports him on the mattress.

 

He thrusts into her for what feels like forever, their collective moans and encouragements echoing throughout the room, until Emma starts quivering beneath him, so he snakes his hand to where they are joined and rubs fast circles at her clit, flicking it every so often until she falls, a scream on her lips and her walls fluttering around him causing him to reach his peak just after her, the both of them collapsing onto the bed and basking in their bliss as they catch their collective breaths.

 

After he disposes of the condom, he crawls back into bed where Emma is now propped up on her side, her hair matted to her forehead from her sweat. She greets him with a kiss, and he’s glad to know that she doesn’t regret their dalliance. He sure as hell doesn’t.

 

“So,” he begins as Emma rests her head on his shoulder and runs her hand through his chest hair, “who do you think is bigger? Me or the Incredible Hulk.”

 

She slaps his chest as he laughs at his own joke before leaning down to kiss the red mark she left.

 

“I’m not sure, but one of them gave me the ride of my life.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my short one shot now has three parts. This is for everyone who wanted to see what happens when they get back to Boston :D

When Emma wakes up in the morning it’s to her phone ringing, the shrill sound of the ringtone making her want to toss it across the room. It’s that thought that has her _really_ waking up and realizing exactly what room she’s in, and oh wow she really did sleep with the guy…no with Killian, and she really did stay with him throughout the night. Two years ago, a one night stand couldn’t even get her to stay while he was throwing away the condom, but she stayed the entire night. Hell, she wasn’t even the slightest bit drunk when it happened, the alcohol from dinner having completely worn off. She didn’t do it to scratch an itch. She did it because she wanted to, because she likes him, and that might scare her more than anything.

 

She doesn’t think anyone is equipped to ride her emotional rollercoaster.

 

She’s got to stop with the puns. She’s really going off the tracks…nope, her mind has to stop. This is insane. Has she completely lost it? Is there a history of people losing their minds and suddenly only speaking in puns?

 

“Swan,” Killian moans against the back of her neck, the feeling of his breath on her skin sending a shiver through her that has her aching for a repeat of earlier, “answer the damn phone.”

 

She swipes across her screen before the tone ends, only to hear Mary Margaret’s frantic voice on the other end. “Emma, where the hell are you? Are you okay? Are you dead? Oh David, she could be dead!”

 

“Marg,” Emma protests as Killian begins to rub his chin on her shoulder, the scruff growing there a wonderful sensation even if she was about ready to bolt on him a minute before. He’s working his lips against the skin at the concave of her shoulder and her neck, and _damn_ that feels good. Meanwhile Mary Margaret’s still talking on the other line, worrying over if they need to call the police to report a missing person.

 

“Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m fine. Calm down, and under no circumstances are you to call the police.”

 

“Well, where the hell are you? You didn’t come back to the hotel.”

 

“And you’re just now noticing this at,” she pulls her phone back to check the time as Killian’s hand makes its way down her side to cup her inner thigh and that’s not distracting at all, “six in the morning?”

 

“We fell asleep early!”

 

Killian’s still trailing kisses over her shoulder and up the side of her neck, and she cannot help but backing up into him, his hard length nestled against her ass. He groans at the contact, and she wants to groan as well but she’s on the phone with her friends who are suddenly very concerned about where she is. She should have texted them. She can’t believe that she didn’t. That was crazy stupid on her part, but Killian is crazy hot and she’s obviously lost her mind.

 

“I’m perfectly safe, Marg.”

 

“Where are you, though?”

 

“You know that guy I met yesterday?”

 

“Emma,” she chastises, “you did not.”

 

“You most definitely did,” Killian whispers in her ear before biting down on her lobe. She can’t take him doing things like that anymore, so she scoots away from him and off the bed, making sure to drag the comforter with her because damn it’s cold in this room and she never got redressed after their second go round. She takes a little bit of pride at the pout on Killian’s face.

 

“I did,” she tells Mary Margaret as she leans against the window.

 

“Why would you do that?”

 

“I like him?” Emma squeaks only to have Killian’s eyebrow pop up and for the pout to transform into a smirk. He’s stupid attractive like this, hair all over the place from sleep and from her hands running through it, and his eyes are so, so blue in the early morning light. She’s not sure if she loves it or hates it.

 

She loves it…no, likes it. That’s a much more normal thought to be having.

 

“So you slept with him?”

 

“You slept with David on the second date, so it’s a little bit like the pot calling the kettle black here.”

 

Killian’s staring at her now with this look like he’s trying to hold back a laugh, and that’s no less distracting than when he was running his tongue behind her ear.

 

“It’s different.”

 

“Marg, your judgmental is showing.”

 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. You know our flight is this afternoon, though, right? You’re not about to run off and get married, are you?”

 

She watches as Killian gets out of bed and slips into a pair of boxer briefs, and pity that.

 

“Yeah, not until four. I’m right across the street from you guys. I promise I will be there before we leave for the airport, okay? And I’m definitely not doing that last thing you mentioned.”

 

“Oh is he listening?”

 

“Yes. I’m going to let you go, Marg.”

 

“Just be safe, in more ways than one.”

 

“Goodbye, Mary Margaret,” Emma sing songs, hanging up the phone before David manages to get to the line because she imagines he’ll probably want to go full detective on Killian.

 

“So you told your friends about me. I must be something special.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“I believe you said you _liked_ me, love,” Killian teases as he makes his way over to her, his lips upturned on one side while he places his hands on her hips through the comforter. It’s not a very thick comforter.

 

“Did I? I don’t recall.”

 

His lips are inches from hers, and she can’t look away from his eyes. They’re so blue contrasted against the black of his eyelashes, and maybe she should send somebody one of those gift baskets Killian was talking about.

 

He raises his eyebrow, as if he’s asking for permission to kiss her, and she nods her head, her nose brushing against his before he lightly touches his lips against hers before pulling back far too soon.

 

He’s a damn good kisser. He does this thing with his tongue, and she’s getting off track again.

 

That one wasn’t a rollercoaster joke. Just unfortunate timing for that phrase. So point to Emma.

 

“I like you, Swan.”

 

She _likes_ him.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” he confirms, backing away from her to slip on a pair of sweatpants, and she wants to whine at the lack of Killian without pants. Just briefs was okay, but this is unacceptable. “Get dressed, love.”

 

“Why? You don’t want to go another round? Another ride so to speak.”

 

Oh God, now she’s saying the puns out loud. That point she just got should definitely be taken away.

 

“I do,” he chuckles, “but I feel like we may need to slow things down, and we’re running on about three hours of sleep. I need some damn coffee.”

 

“Damn coffee sounds good.”

 

His hotel serves breakfast, but all she really wants is the _damn_ coffee. So while Killian loads up a plate with things like eggs and fruit and not a semblance of an unhealthy item, she gets them the two tallest cups of coffee available. She doesn’t know how he takes his, so she leaves his black while loading hers up with cream and sugar. The caffeine content of coffee is great, the taste of it by itself is not. That’s why she’s so shocked when Killian simply picks up his cup and gulps the hot liquid down, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

 

Why is that hot? She means Killian, not the coffee. But also the coffee.

 

“I’m a simple man, Swan. I like my coffee black and my women blonde.”

 

She can feel the heat rising in her cheeks, so she blocks her face with her cup as she drinks it to try to keep the weirdness of the morning and his flirtations at bay. Emma Swan does not do this. She doesn’t do the morning after breakfast and the flirting and the not running away as quickly as possible. Yet, here she is watching this guy that she really does like who lives in her city and doesn’t seem to be a creep or a jackass piling scrambled eggs into his mouth like he worked up some kind of appetite last night.

 

Well, he kind of did.

 

She did that to him, so another point to Emma. Why the hell is she doing this point thing?

 

They don’t really talk much during the breakfast, and eventually Emma does cave on the food thing and decides to get herself one of the bagels, even if she knows it’s going to be stale. But it keeps her occupied so that she doesn’t combust from nerves.

 

“So you’re leaving today?” Killian asks when they’ve both finished their meals and are each on their third cup of coffee. They probably should have gone back to sleep instead of getting hyped up on caffeine.

 

“Yeah.”

 

He scratches behind his ear and tilts his head to study her for a moment. “Not to be forward, Emma, but I’d like to see you again…when we get home.”

 

She tugs her lips between her teeth and shit, she knew this was going to happen. She _wanted_ this to happen, but old demons are flaring up and she wants them to go die.

 

“Killian,” she sighs before running her hand through her hair, “I know that I seemed like this super carefree woman here, but I’ve got ghosts and scars and I have a hard time dating. And I really do like you, but I feel like I’m just going to disappoint you if you get to know me.”

 

“I’d at least like the chance.”

 

Is it possible for a man to look hopeful and heartbroken all at the same time?

 

“It’s not going to work out.”

 

“Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

 

She contemplates him for a moment, but her gut is doing the opposite of what she wants it to do and telling her to trust him. She’s officially lost it. This was just supposed to be a fun vacation. This wasn’t supposed to happen…but it did. She might as well go along for the ride.

 

“If I give you my number, maybe we can try to go to lunch or dinner when we’re both home. I’m not promising another night of,” she motions between the two of them, “this. My schedule can be hectic, and I don’t know if the pizza at home can compare to the cardboard we ate last night.”

 

He laughs and reaches over the table to grab her hand, twining their fingers together. “Aye, I think I’ll manage to deal with that.”

 

He kisses her before she leaves, backing her up against the door of his room with his hand rooted in her hair as he devours her and rolls his hips against hers in a move that has her absolutely aching not to leave him.

 

“That’s not fair,” she whines. She actually whines. “You know I have to go.”

 

“Aye,” he nods, pecking her lips before kissing her forehead, lingering a little longer than normal, “I just think you deserve a proper goodbye. I don’t think my day with Liam and Belle will be quite the same without you. _Rides_ ,” he rolls his hips into hers again, “just aren’t the same.”

 

It makes her feel better that he makes the corny jokes as well.

 

“You’re incorrigible.”

 

“You like me, Swan.”

 

When Emma goes back to her hotel, her lips swollen and her hair more wild than when she’d gotten ready for the day, to pack up before her flight and to prove she’s alive to David and Mary Margaret, her phone goes off before she’s even inside the room.

 

_Unknown Number: My favorite ride this week was the Swan. Bloody thrilling._

 

She’s got a stupid grin on her face despite the rational (or maybe irrational) part of her still being unsure of this whole thing. Killian’s done not a thing wrong, but men of the past are always echoing in her head to keep her from being as open to things as she was yesterday and this morning.

 

_Emma: I hear it’s a real thrill ride._

_Killian: Had my heart pumping and body shaking in more ways than one._

She can’t help but smile as she continues to text Killian until her flight takes off, Mary Margaret peering over her shoulder every chance she gets until Emma breaks down and tells her all about her day yesterday and this morning. Mary Margaret practically squeals at some parts despite her earlier reluctance, and David complains about not wanting to know everything.

 

Her week goes on as normal. She’s got another case about a suspected cheating wife, and as much as she hates taking these, she gets a sense of personal satisfaction every time she actually does catch a scumbag cheating. It’s petty and actually pretty fucked up, but she’s not the one cheating. She’s not the one being cheated on either, but the fact that’s how both of her serious relationships have ended makes her feel that way every time she takes a case. But this is how she pays the bills, so she spends her week compiling information on Mrs. Lauren before staking her out to see if Mr. Lauren’s suspicions about his wife are correct.

 

It’s as she’s sitting in the corner of a restaurant watching Mrs. Lauren kiss a man who is most definitely not her husband that her phone goes off.

 

_Killian: I see that not only do you wait in the single rider line, but that you also like to dine alone._

 

She immediately whips around, trying to look for him because either he’s in the restaurant or he’s this weird psychic, and she’s really thinking it’s not the second one. Those were not services he offered last week.

 

_Killian: As the cupid shuffle says, to your left._

When she turns to her left it’s to Killian Jones in a suit with his jacket hanging over the back of his chair. She’s seen him naked, and she’s never been more attracted to him. He’s smiling from ear to ear, and she really loves the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. She knows it’s because he’s a bit older than her, but she likes to think it’s because they’re smile lines from years of happiness.

 

“Hi,” she squeaks, waving over to him at his table like the most awkward person in the world.

 

He leans over to tell the two men he’s sitting across from something before getting up to walk over to her, leaning down to kiss her cheek in greeting, and wow he smells good (looks good too, but she’s already thought that) when all cleaned up.

 

“Hello, love. Care for some company for a moment?”

 

She nods to the empty seat across from her. “Go ahead.”

 

“So I have to ask,” he begins, ticking his finger at his chin. “You look lovely, and yet you’re sitting here all alone. Are you meeting someone?”

 

She can tell he’s schooling his features to seem emotionless, but he’s definitely a tiny bit jealous.

 

“No, most definitely not.”

 

He raises his eyebrow at her, and that must be his _thing_.

 

“I’m working,” she explains. “What are you doing here? I didn’t even know you were back in Boston.”

 

“Those are two of my department heads,” he nods quickly to them, but his eye contact with her never wavers. “They like to go out to eat before the fall semester starts just to chat about our plans of how we’re going to torture the young men and women of Harvard for the next few months.”

 

“Wow, you sound like a fun professor.”

 

“I’m the only person under the age of fifty who works there, so I like to think I’m the most entertaining professor around. My classes are always full.”

 

“That’s because you’re hot.”

 

The words just slip out of her mouth, and she claps her hands over her lips to keep anything else from slipping out. She’s mortified, and Killian is laughing at her, his eyes bright as amusement flitters through them

 

“Don’t I know it? Though I do prefer the term dashing.”

 

She can’t help but giggle, and did she really just fucking giggle?

 

“Don’t let me keep you from your work. I don’t want to be the cause of you being unprofessional.”

 

“Please, love. I’m enjoying our third date.”

 

“Third? Did I miss the first two?”

 

“First was the day we met. Second was the breakfast the next day.”

 

“I don’t think either of those count as dates.”

 

“No, probably not. But I’d like a real one.” He smiles at her, and everything from a week ago flashes through her mind. It wouldn’t be bad going on a real date with him, right? It would be nice, she thinks. “Will you go out with me, Emma? For real?”

 

She shocks herself because she doesn’t even hesitate before saying yes.

 

She doesn’t shock herself when she’s absolutely flipping out about her date a week later when Killian is on his way to pick her up.

 

“Emma, calm down,” David sighs. She still lives with Mary Margaret, which means she still lives with David, and the two of them are sitting in the living room like two statues while she paces back and forth. “You’ve literally slept with the guy. How are you nervous?”

“Probably _because_ I slept with the guy and now I’m going on a date with him.”

 

“I mean, it usually goes in the opposite order, but I think you’re going to be fine, Em. You like him, right?”

 

She nods. She does.

 

“Then just go and have a good time. You deserve to be happy.”

 

“Thank you, David.”

 

It’s then that there’s a knock on the door, and she’s practically sprinting over to the door, pulling up her shorts and making sure her blouse is tucked in just the right amount before opening the door. It’s there that she finds Killian Jones in a pair of black skinny jeans and a gray t-shirt, and she feels like she’s on a rollercoaster all over again.

 

Her heart is beating fast enough for it.

 

She’s got to stop with the rollercoaster comparisons. She thought she was done with those.

 

“Hi,” she greets as she waves at him, and she’s really got to get better at greeting him.

 

“Hello, beautiful,” he says as he leans down to peck her cheek. See? She should be able to greet him like that. “Are you ready to – ”

 

“David Nolan,” David introduces himself, sticking his hand over Emma’s shoulder, “and this is my fiancé – ”

 

“Mary Margaret,” she interrupts pushing David and Emma over so that she can greet Killian. “You’re right, Ems. He is cute.”

 

Emma wants to die right then and there.

 

“Okay, we are leaving. I will see you guys later. Please don’t wait up.”

 

Killian guides her out of the apartment, the heat of the August sun nothing compared to the heat of his hand on the small of her back through the linen of her shirt. He’s started lecturing again since she last saw him, so he’s telling her stories of how the first week of classes went. She’s never been to college, so she takes it all in, trying not to feel like some kind of failure compared to him. She’s not a failure. She’s worked hard to overcome being a foster kid with no future to a basically fully functioning member of society. She’s not going to feel bad about herself. Killian isn’t making her feel bad about herself. In fact, he seems to be fascinated by what she does, always asking questions, so she’s going to try to stuff the feelings of inferiority down.

 

She has no clue where they’re going. He just told her to dress casually, and now she’s completely following his lead. She’s not used to that, but she likes it.

 

They end up eating at Saltie Girl, and she’s never been one to get seafood at restaurants, but what the hell? She might as well go for it. That’s kind of her attitude for the rest of the afternoon as Killian takes her on a guided tour around Boston like she hasn’t lived there her entire life. But she quite likes her British tour guide, so if he wants to tell her the history behind every cobblestone, she’ll gladly let him. He obviously loves history and academia, and he’s continuously surprising her because a man who has a doctorate in English should not be nearly as fun and as entertaining as he is. Because he is fun and entertaining, and she finds herself laughing just as much as she did on the first day that they met.

 

So good. That wasn’t just a one time thing.

 

Somehow they end up on Harvard’s campus, and if Killian was a nerd walking the streets of Boston, it’s nothing compared to how he is walking around the place where he apparently spends more time than his own home. They run into a few of his students, and he’s as good with them as he is with her. How is this guy even real?

 

By the end of the date, she’s absolutely aching for him to kiss her again, and when he does, just outside her apartment door, she sighs into it, the feeling of his lips against hers again a welcome one. She tries to flick her tongue against his bottom lip when she wraps her arms around his neck, but he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers as she breathes him in.

 

“Emma.”

 

“What?”

 

“Let me court you.”

 

“Court me?”

 

“Yeah, take you on more dates. Get to know you better. And then maybe we can return to what we did on the night we met.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I like you, Emma Swan, and I’d like to date you.”

 

So Killian Jones keeps dating Emma Swan, and Killian truly does know how to court a woman. He texts her in the mornings to wish her a good day every damn day, and he calls her on the nights where she isn’t working and when they aren’t together. But they’re together more often than not, and after awhile Emma finally gets to go to his apartment and it’s like everything she ever imaged it to be.

 

It’s near the harbor, so he has a view of the ocean from his living room window, the curtains always open to allow the light in. He’s got an entire wall covered by mahogany bookcases filled with books of all sorts, philosophical to historical to fantasy. There’s pictures of he and his brother everywhere, ranging from when they were young to Liam’s wedding, and one day a picture of Killian and Emma from the day that they met pops up on a frame in his coffee table.

 

There’s a matching one in his office.

 

“You’re sweet,” she tells him, bumping his shoulder as they watch a movie.

 

“I’ve got a beautiful lass who likes to spend time with me. Why wouldn’t I want a picture of her in my home?”

 

Most of their dates are like that, just the two of them lounging at one of their apartments while they watch television, sometimes even getting exciting enough for the two of them to sit on their laptops doing their respective jobs. But Killian knows how to show a girl a good time, and when they get the chance, he takes her out to have that good time only for them to stumble home and fall into bed laughing at each other as clothes are shed and skin is bared.

 

But Emma knows how to show Killian a good time as well, and when October comes around, she books them a hotel in Salem despite the short distance from Boston so they can go on one of the Salem witch tours. It’s kitschy and it’s touristy, but sometimes those are the most entertaining things to do.

 

They did meet at a tourist trap, after all.

 

He picks her up at her apartment and Killian Jones, master of sweaters and button downs is standing in front of her with a black tee shirt covered by an unbuttoned plaid shirt with black jeans and boots. If that wasn’t enough, his beard has grown out the right amount to be full, and he’s got a beanie on his head. Damn, he looks good, and damn she likes her boyfriend.

 

Something melts inside of her when he smiles at her like he is right now, his dimples showing and his eyes squinting in elation.

 

“You ready to go, love?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Killian doesn’t know that she booked them the Haunted Pirate Tour in honor of when he told her that he wanted to be a pirate as a kid on that first day. He was there when she finally got to check a dream off of her to-do list, so it’s the least that she can do to give him the smallest of tastes of his childhood dream.

 

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he grins when they get to the tour group only to see that half of the guests are dressed similarly to Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean…they most definitely do not look like Captain Jack Sparrow. She’s still walking ahead of Killian`, but he grabs her wrist and pulls her back to him so that her arms are around his neck as she looks up at him. “What are we doing?”

 

“A haunted pirate tour,” she tells him as her hands card through the hair at the nape of his neck that sticks out from underneath his beanie. He needs a haircut, but she kind of likes it like this. “I wanted to do something so you could live out a bit of your childhood dream with an October twist.”

 

He kisses the crown of her head before pulling back and looking her in the eyes, and she’ll never be able to get over how blue his are. “You are brilliant, my little pizza prostitute.”

 

“Hey,” she protests, slapping his chest. “We said that I was _not_ a pizza prostitute.”

 

“Aye, but I was thinking about getting us some pizza later and then enjoying a little pirate booty.”

 

“You’re gross.”

 

“You’re beautiful.”

 

She can feel the blush rise on her cheeks, but Killian doesn’t pay any attention to it, simply grabbing her hand and holding on tight throughout the rest of the tour. The entire thing is incredibly cheesy, but she and Killian, being who they are, trade pirate puns throughout the whole thing, only to get killer stares from the others touring who were afraid to really get into it.

 

“You want to shiver me timbers later, darling?”

 

“I don’t pillage and plunder with guys I barely know.”

 

He raises his eyebrow at her as he gives her a full grin before bringing their joined hands up so that he can kiss her knuckles. Her timbers don’t shiver, but her spine does.

 

“You and I both know that’s not true. And you most definitely know me.”

 

“Aye,” she responds in her best attempt at his accent with her free hand twisted up to look like a hook.

 

When the tour is over, the two of them are happily buzzed with the rum served (it was a pirate tour, what else would one expect?), and before getting back to their hotel, Killian finds them a pizza place, as promised.

 

He’s always keeping his promises.

 

The last time they were in a hotel together, they were new to each other, and despite their easy back and forth, a nervous energy buzzed through the air. Tonight, though, there’s no nervous energy. She and Killian walk into _their_ room, and there’s no awkward energy between the two of them. It’s comfortable and it’s natural, and Emma wonders how she’s finally found this kind of luck in her life.

 

“Thank you for today, darling,” Killian whispers against her stomach as he helps her lift her sweater over her head.

 

“Thank you for not thinking it was weird.” She lifts her hips so that he can slide her leggings down, kicking at them when they get to her ankles only for them not to fly off like she wants them to. Damn spanx leggings.

 

“Weird?” he laughs as he helps get the leggings off her ankles before shucking his own shirts and bracing himself on his forearms so that he’s hovering above her. “Swan, every part of our relationship is weird, and it’s the best relationship I’ve ever been a part of.”

 

“Your grammar is a little off there, Dr. Jones. Ending a sentence with a preposition.”

 

He’s kissing at her jaw, nibbling a bit before soothing the sting. She loves when he does this, when he takes care of her, worships her really, with his lips and his tongue and his touch. She thinks she might love him, but she sure as hell isn’t ready to tell him that, even when he kisses _that_ spot behind her ear.

 

“I’m distracted by my very naked girlfriend.”

 

“Hmm,” she hums while running her hands over the muscles of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. “Don’t you tell your students that there are no excuses?”

 

“If they had you,” he ruts his hips into her and she whimpers at how good that feels, even through the material of his jeans, “naked and writhing underneath them, I think I’d give them a free pass.”

 

She runs her lips against his bicep while his hands lightly trail down her sides and he works magic with his fingers.

 

“I’ll have to tell them that I’m their girl if they ever need help.”

 

He growls before pinching her side before capturing her lips with his, slow and sweet, maybe a little demanding when their tongues mix together, and everything she’s come to crave from him.

 

“You’re my girl.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

They take it slow the night, the pace never hurried, and when he finally slides into her, he takes his time, just a gradual push and pull as he rocks into her.

 

“You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he whispers against her neck, and he’s about to hit that spot if he moves a little to the…ah, the left. “I count my lucky stars that I met you.” She’s about to see stars. “You make me happy in a way that I haven’t been in a long time.”

 

It’s so different when he’s like this, soft and slow, no dirty talk or harsh panting as he ruts into her. It’s sweet, and she likes it this way as much as she likes when they’re demanding with each other. That first night, that first time, was wonderful, but this is something else entirely.

 

Something better.

 

* * *

* * *

 

He’s in love with her, and she’s not talking to him right now.

 

He knew she was skittish despite their quick beginning. Maybe a little _because_ of their quick beginning, but two and a half months into actually dating while they were indulging in spiced rum for her twenty-ninth birthday, she spilled to him the stories of Neal and Walsh and how they betrayed her. He wanted to yell at those men for ever treating her the way they did, but instead he shared his own sob story of betrayal and trust issues and having his own heart broken. He thought that maybe she’d understand that he wasn’t just telling her because she was telling him, but that he was telling her because he trusted her, wanted her to know that he understands and that he’d never betray her the way they’d both been betrayed.

 

Because he loves her, even if she’s not ready to hear it just yet.

 

But then the next morning when he woke up and reached over to Emma’s side of the bed, she wasn’t there, the sheets cool to the touch. He called her, and she didn’t answer. He texted, and she didn’t answer. He went to her door, and she didn’t answer. She never answered, and he never could figure out what he’d done wrong because he was so sure that it was something he had done.

 

He’d finished off the bottle of rum that afternoon, and he’d called Liam to keep him from doing something stupid. He’s closer to forty than he is to thirty, and he still has to call his brother for help.

 

“So what happened?” Liam questions, popping open a beer while Killian nurses a water, their feet propped up on his coffee table.

 

“I think we got too emotional, and she ran.”

 

“Just like that?”

 

“Just like that.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Without betraying her trust, she’s got walls.” He really wants more rum or maybe even that beer Liam’s drinking. Mostly he just wants Emma. “She’s been betrayed, just like me, and I have a feeling that she doesn’t share about it too much. That she believes sharing it with me gave me some kind of warped power over her.”

 

“Things have been going so well between the two of you, though.”

 

Killian sighs and runs his hands through his hair, not really sure what to say. “I love her, you know?”

 

“I know, Killian. But just so you know, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

 

“I want her, but I don’t know if she wants me anymore.”

 

“Give her time, little brother.”

 

“Younger brother.”

 

So now he finds himself sitting in his office at the university grading papers, trying not to let his emotions alter how he feels about his students’ papers, but he can’t help his sour mood over not having spoken to his girlfriend for two weeks besides her letting him know that she was safe after working on a case that could have potentially been dangerous. He didn’t want to ask – _he did want to ask_ – but he needed to know.

 

There’s a knock on the door, barely noticeable, and when he looks up it’s to Emma standing there with a sheepish smile on her face and her bottom lip between her teeth. Despite himself, he’s thrilled to see her. He also feels like he could hurl in his rubbish bin.

 

“Hi,” she greets, not daring to take a step through the threshold. He’s not sure if he wants her to or not. Who is he kidding? Of course he wants her to.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Can we talk?”

 

He’s still torn between yelling and begging her to come in, to come back.

 

“Aye.”

 

She finally comes inside his office, shutting the door behind her before sitting down in the chair across from his desk, fiddling with her hands as she shuffles her feet against the hardwood. She’s got to be about as nervous as he is, only she had time to work herself up before coming here. He’s just trying to catch up.

 

“Emma, I – ”

 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, looking up at him so that he can see the glassiness of her eyes. He’s missed those eyes. “I freaked out, and I fucked up.”

 

“Swan.”

 

“Please let me finish.” He nods his head. “I fucked up, Killian. I care about you so damn much, and we’ve basically been having this absolute blast for three months, the last few weeks notwithstanding. And then things got serious, and I freaked out. I haven’t let myself feel something for a long time, and then you come in out of literally nowhere, and suddenly I remember what it’s like to be in a good relationship. But all of my so-called good relationships have only ever ended badly.”

 

“Unless you get married , and sometimes even then, relationships are going to end.”

 

“That doesn’t exactly instill a lot of confidence.”

 

“I’m not trying to, Emma. I’m nearly thirty-six years old. I’ve lived a lot of life and had my heart broken many a time. It’s not easy, what you and I are trying to do, what I hope you and I are still trying to do, but if you find the right person, it’s worth it.”

 

“How do I know though? How do you know?”

 

“When you love someone you know.”

 

“Killian – ”

 

He puts his hands in the air, and he’s glad he’s managed to stay so composed throughout this. His emotions are warring in his head, but all he really wants is Emma. He wants to fight for her and to deserve her. And for her to do the same with him.

 

“Sweetheart, I’m not saying those three words right now because I don’t want the first time I say them to you for you to be unsure of us. I want you to be ready, and you not speaking to me for two weeks is _not_ you being ready.”

 

“How can you not be pissed at me? I basically ghosted you and not even the pirate ghost tour kind of ghosted you.”

 

“I don’t know what that means.”

 

A laugh passes through her lips, and oh how he’s missed those lips too. “You’re so old.”

 

“Aye, I’m old, and while I may not have as much time as you, I’m willing to wait for you. I’m in this for the long haul.”

 

He sees her fidget in her seat, her hands constantly twitching and turning. Half of him wants to punch a wall and the other part of him wants to take her on his desk. Mostly he just wants them both to stop dancing around each other.

 

“That’s why I’m here.”

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t want us to be apart anymore.”

 

 _Oh thank goodness._  


 

“Bloody hell.”

 

She’s kissing him before he knows what’s happening, and he can’t help but sigh into it, relief and pleasure coursing through him all at once as he pulls her into his lap and her hands card through his hair. He’s pretty sure she loves his hair. He’s completely sure that he loves her.

 

“Are you still willing to ride this rollercoaster with me?”

 

“I’d wait in line forever, Emma.”

 

“I’ve missed our bad puns.”

 

“I’ve missed you.”

 

So it’s a much smoother ride from then on out, but they still have things to talk about, to flesh out, and to make sure they’re on the same page. For a few weeks, whenever Emma stays over, he’s always waking up in the middle of the night just to make sure that she’s still there. She always is, and eventually he stops having to check because he knows she’s there.

 

_When you love someone you know._

 

By the time the holiday season rolls around, Emma’s told him that she loves him. It was whispered in the dark of the night, so quiet that he almost didn’t hear it.

 

“Darling, I need you to say that again.”

 

She’s quiet for a moment, pulling his white comforter up to cover her face, and he moves it back down as he puts her loose strands of hair back behind her ear.

 

“I love you.”

 

He knows he has to have the goofiest smile on his face when he says, “I love you, Emma.”

 

It’s one of the best days of his life.

 

David and Mary Margaret get married a week before Christmas, and Emma is in such a sinful red gown that’s perfectly hugging her curves so much that he’s almost positive that he did not pay a lick of attention to the ceremony. Most wedding ceremonies are similar, so he thinks he’ll be able to fill in the gaps.

 

Before the reception he manages to grab her waist and pull her into an empty hallway off the reception hall, immediately pressing her up against the wall as his mouth attacks hers, and he knows, and doesn’t bloody care, that she’s going to fuss at him for messing up her lipstick.

 

“Easy tiger,” she breathes against his lips when he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers, their noses brushing against each other, “we’ve still got a reception to go to.”

 

“Can we skip it?”

 

“I’m not skipping my best friend’s wedding so that you can get laid.”

 

“Isn’t that the point of weddings? To get laid?”

 

“If you want to go home with a bridesmaid, feel free.”

 

Both of his eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead at that. “Any bridesmaid you say?”

 

“No.” She pushes back from him and taps his chest. “The maid of honor is your only option, good sir.”

 

He does get to go home with the maid of honor, but only because that’s Emma. And they definitely don’t go back to his apartment until she’s let him dance with her several times throughout the evening. It’s a nice wedding, and he’s glad that he didn’t skip out on it, especially when Emma catches the bouquet and doesn’t even try to hide her smile from him.

 

She’s so beautiful, and he has no idea what he’s ever done to deserve her.

 

David and Mary Margaret are out of town for Christmas for their honeymoon the next week and since he knows that Emma doesn’t have any other family, he persuades her (not that it takes that much) to spend Christmas with he, Liam, and Belle at Belle’s parents’ home in Maine. She’s visibly nervous, and he doesn’t know why.

 

“I feel like I’m meeting your parents,” she whispers in the back of Belle’s car as Belle drives them there.

 

“I’m not related to these people, love. Not really.”

 

“I know, but I still feel that way.”

 

“Imagine how I felt the first time I met them,” Liam laughs from the front of the car, shooting them a look through the rearview window. “It was bloody terrifying.”

 

“They’re very kind people,” Belle encourages, “just don’t ask if they got my name from the Disney movie. I was born before it was released, and it irritates my father to no end.”

 

Belle’s house is basically a mansion in the small coastal town, and while he knew that from when Liam got married, Emma didn’t, her mouth momentarily hanging open when they pull up to the French Tudor home. He simply reaches over to squeeze her hand, letting her know that he’s beside her always.

 

It’s a bit of a whirlwind of a day, people always filtering in and out of the house for the Christmas Eve celebrations, and he can tell that Emma is a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people who she doesn’t know.

 

“Hey,” he nudges as they sit on the back porch looking into the house, the Christmas lights of the tree reflecting off the window in shades of red and green, “do you want to go for a walk?”

 

“A walk?”

 

“Yeah, one foot in front of the other as we move from one place to the next.”

 

“You’re so damn cheeky sometimes,” she whines before leaning her head onto his shoulder, her hair smelling like that familiar honey scent as she nuzzles herself into his side.

 

“You love me, Swan.”

 

“I do love you, Jones.”

 

He turns his head to kiss her hair and pull her closer to his side.

 

“So about that walk?”

 

They end up walking through the streets of the town, peering into the very odd selection of shop windows but never going inside until Emma spots a diner and wants something to eat despite the fact that they just ate a few hours ago. She orders a hot chocolate and a grilled cheese sandwich, and he knows his girlfriend is younger than him but he’s always surprised by some of her childlike tendencies. He supposes that she never really got a childhood, and even if she had, he’d never begrudge her from finding joy in the little things. He didn’t for a long time, and life is so much better when you do.

 

It’s as some melted cheese sticks to her face that he realizes that he wants to marry her. It’s crazy and it doesn’t make sense and he hasn’t even known her for six months, but he most definitely wants to marry her.

 

“What?” she asks while trying to get the cheese off of her chin, her hair still trapped under her white beanie.

 

“Nothing, Swan,” he chuckles as he takes a sip of his own hot chocolate. His has rum. Hers has cinnamon.

 

“No, tell me what, babe.”

 

When she smiles at him like that, all of her teeth on display and her eyes crinkling at the sides, it’s a beautiful sight that he’s thankful he gets to see. The odds of them meeting were so slim, and he shudders to think of what would have happened had they not.

 

She nudges his leg underneath the table, the toe of her boot hitting against his calf.

 

“I love you, Emma.”

 

She looks at him curiously, tilting her head to the side before her lips press together into a soft smile.

 

“I love you, too. Why are you being mopey?”

 

“I’m not being mopey.”

 

“Yes, you are. You have your thinking face on which usually leads to your mopey face.”

 

“You’ve got to think of a better word than mopey, love.”

 

“Melancholy.”

 

“I am not melancholy,” he protests, reaching over the table to twine their fingers together. “I am simply happy that you’re here with me. That we met.”

 

“Me too, Killian.”

 

Eventually they do finish eating and make their way toward some of the residential areas of town, looking at the decorations adorning all of the houses. He always liked doing this as a kid when they lived in an apartment and had not house to decorate. It made the holidays seem a little brighter.

 

“Do you ever think about getting a house?” she questions as she swings their hands between them.

 

“Aye, but it’s just me. I’ve never needed one.”

 

“What if it’s more than just you?”

 

He stops walking only to have to yank Emma back from where she had continued ahead of him. She’s always doing that when they walk together.

 

“What are you talking about, Swan?”

 

“You know, if you get married or have kids or have a girlfriend who you really love?”

 

“Is this your way of asking to move in with me?”

 

“I’m just asking for future reference.”

 

“A house would be nice, my love.”

 

Emma moves into his apartment in March on his spring break, and while she doesn’t have a lot of stuff, he still breaks a sweat packing everything up and loading and unloading it. She sold most of her furniture, even if he told her not to, so all they’ve really got to carry are her clothes and her personal items. The small amount of personal items she carries makes his heart ache that she hasn’t always received all of the love she deserves. But then when he’s unloading a box of her picture frames, he sees a tiny piece of paper stuck to the back of one of them.

 

“Swan,” he calls to her in the other room, “come here please, darling.”

 

“What?” she yells, not even bothering to come to him, so he gets up to see what she’s doing in the bedroom, small piece of paper in his hand.

 

“You kept this,” he holds out the ticket so that she can see it.

 

Something flashes across her face before she goes back to folding her clothes on the bed.

 

“I know for a fact that you have your ticket in your wallet, so you cannot make fun of me for this.”

 

“I’m not going to make fun of the fact that you keep your ticket from the day we met,” he lens over her from her position on the bed, “because I think that’s the most sentimental and loving thing you’ve ever done.”

 

“Really? I have sex with you, love you, move in with you, and listen to you talk about how incompetent half of your students are, and this is the most sentimental and loving thing I’ve ever done?”

 

“Absolutely.” He kisses her. “Do you want to go back? To Universal? Maybe over my summer break, right after graduation?”

 

“Can we afford that?”

 

“I have some savings. We can go for just a few days. Maybe one or two.”

 

“You hate the Florida heat.”

 

“I love you, though.”

 

They make a plan to go back to Universal in the middle of June, just a month shy of when they first met, and while Killian isn’t the biggest fan of theme parks and the overpriced tickets and food, he knows there will always be something special about this place for him. It’s where, by pure chance, he met the woman who is the love of his life, the woman he wants to marry some day.

 

Emma is thrilled about their trip all leading up to it, going so far as to plan out the things she wants to do that she missed last time, but once they actually fly down to Florida, she seems a bit jumpy, like she wants to run. God, he hopes she doesn’t decide to run now. They’ve been through so much together, both good and bad, and he loves her too much to be able to live his life without her now.

 

He tries not to think about it, about how she’s so on edge, so he simply grabs her hand and leads her through the entrance of Adventure Island at Universal Studios. He wants them to start this trip off with how they met at the Incredible Hulk, but as soon as he gets to the line, Emma stops.

 

“What are you doing, Swan? Please tell me you’re not scared of these anymore.”

 

“Killian.”

 

“What? It’s going to be fine,” he pulls at her hand again, “come on.”

 

“Killian, I can’t get on that ride.”

 

“Why the hell not?”

 

“I’m pregnant.”

 

And suddenly they’re in line for a different kind of ride.


	4. Chapter Four

Emma is sitting with Mary Margaret at she and Killian’s apartment on the last day of May while Killian is at Harvard’s commencement ceremony. He’d asked if she wanted to come, but everything has felt so incredibly hot lately, especially for Boston in May. Usually at this time she can still be wearing sweaters and boots, but right now she’s got on a tank top and a pair of cropped leggings as the two women watch television while Emma finishes up some prep work on her open cases before she and Killian leave for Florida in week and a half.

 

“Emma, how are you not freezing? It’s freezing in here.”

 

“Ugh, no,” she groans, shaking the thick blanket Mary Margaret had over the two of them off of her and adjusting her bra.

 

Her boobs hurt, and she keeps waiting for her period to start. She’s only a week late (or maybe two or three or oh my god she’s lost track), and in her head all she can hear is _I’m late, I’m late, I’m late for a very important date_ in the voice of the rabbit from Alice and Wonderland. She’s, like, thirty percent sure she could be pregnant, but she refuses to take a test over something as little as her period being a week late (or more). That’s totally normal, right? And this weirdness in her body is just PMS. It has to be.

 

But she has been extra tired lately and it did hurt last night when Killian bit down on her nipple. And not the usual pain where it’s more pleasure than anything else, but an unpleasant pain that had him pulling back almost immediately at her whimper.

 

The more she thinks about this, the more concerned she starts to be.

 

What if she is pregnant? Does she want a baby? She thinks she wants a baby, especially with Killian but…oh God. Does Killian want a baby? They’ve never talked about it except in vague _what if_ scenarios and now she thinks she might be knocked up.

 

Also, the term knocked up is horrible. Who the hell came up with that?

 

And now she’s thought the word baby so many times that all she can think about is Dirty Dancing and _nobody puts baby in the corner_. Who the hell names their kid baby?

 

She seems to be coming up with a lot of questions in order to distract her mind. That can’t be healthy.

 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret shakes her shoulders, “Emma. You’ve gone all starry-eyed on me. Were you listening to a word I just said?”

 

“No.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Emma saves her document before closing her laptop and putting it on the coffee table. Killian has been gradually filling the place with pictures of the two of them, and she loves him more than anything in the world. She loves him, and even though she’s pretty sure that if she is pregnant he’ll be happy, she’s still freaking out a little, tiny baby bit.

 

Oh no, now she’s even thinking in terms of using infant-related words in her thoughts. This sucks…sucks, sucker, pacifier. See, she doesn’t even have to try. Her mind just jumps all over the place, and isn’t pregnancy brain a thing? Like, you become forgetful and distracted and your brain is just mush. Kind of like her belly and her vagina and oh God her vagina. Something’s going to come out of that. An entire human being is. Maybe. Possibly. She doesn’t know. She’s just thirty to fifty percent sure.

 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret groans, shaking her shoulders again, “what is wrong with you?”

 

“I think I might be pregnant.”

 

Mary Margaret’s mouth falls open like her jaw is unhinged, and Emma can at least understand that reaction.

 

“Well that’s not what I was expecting…for you _to be_ expecting.”

 

“I mean, I’m only seventy percent sure.”

 

She keeps going up in percentages the more she thinks about it. She was never good at math. And she needs to take a test. She just can’t decide if she wants to tell Killian before she does it or not. On the one hand, he’d probably want to know. He deserves to know. But on the other, what if she’s not, and he’s disappointed? What if she’s not, and _she’s_ disappointed?

 

She would be disappointed.

 

“Well let’s go take a test.”

 

“You make it sound so simple.”

 

“It’s peeing on a stick. That’s about as simple as you can get.”

 

So Emma pees on a stick. Four actually, and Mary Margaret holds her hand for every single one. And she holds her hand every time that second pink line shows up and every time Emma starts pacing back and forth in the bathroom. This is a small bathroom. She should not be able to pace that much.

 

Mary Margaret eventually has to leave, and Emma simply stares at the pregnancy tests, both excitement and nerves bubbling up inside of her until she hears the front door unlock and she’s shoving the tests in the box where she keeps her tampons. She won’t be needing those any time soon.

 

As Killian would say, bloody hell. Or maybe no so bloody…at least until she gives birth. Oh my goodness, she’s going to give birth.

 

“Sweetheart,” Killian calls, and she can tell he’s getting closer to their bedroom, so she shucks her shirt and pretends that she’s simply changing her clothes. “Sweetheart, you will not believe how bloody long that ceremony was. I swear I aged all the way up to forty while I was there.” He leans down to give her his usual greeting kiss once he finds her sitting in the bed, shucking his own suit jacket before climbing onto his side of the mattress. “How was your day with our lovely Mary Margaret?”

 

“It was good. We watched movies and ate junk food. Just a normal lazy day.”

“That sounds like my girls.”

 

“Your girls? Like, plural?”

 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, reaching forward to wrap his hand around her forearm. “You and Mary Margaret.”

 

“Oh,” she sighs, worrying over the fact that he might already know she’s pregnant. How would he know that? And how would he know the gender? She’s going to tell him, she swears. She’s just going to wait until it’s confirmed by a doctor. That’s the logical thing to do, right? “I don’t think David would like you claiming Marg as yours.”

 

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

 

Oh buddy, you have no idea.

 

She does confirm that she’s pregnant with a doctor, but she couldn’t get an appointment with her regular gynecologist until the day before they leave for Florida. She’s eight weeks pregnant, and she’s on her way to a theme park where she can’t ride any rides because of that whole pregnancy thing. And she hasn’t told Killian because he’s just been so excited about this trip. He doesn’t even like theme parks, but this is how they met and she knows that’s special to him. It’s special to her.

 

So that’s how she ends up blurting out “I’m pregnant” right outside the line for the Incredible Hulk eleven months after they met in this very spot.

 

Maybe they can name the kid Bruce Banner…nope, that’s not happening.

 

It looks like all of the air has rushed out of her boyfriend, but she can’t read his emotions, usually so explicitly reflected in the blue of his eyes, because those eyes are covered by the dark shades of his sunglasses.

 

“Killian,” she shakes his hand from where their fingers are twined together, his grip extremely tight. Killian’s suddenly got Hulk strength in his hand. He’s also looking a little green. Pun intended. Pun always intended. “Killian you’re hurting my hand.”

 

“Oh shit,” he curses before releasing her hand. She’s freaking out a bit. Okay, a lot. She’s freaking out a lot. He hasn’t said anything but _oh shit_. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I was doing that. I didn’t mean to hurt you and bloody hell, Emma, you’re pregnant.”

 

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth before nodding her head, eye contact never wavering even with the barrier of sunglasses. At least he’s finally acknowledged her words. “I’m pregnant.”

 

He must finally come to his senses and wraps his arms around her waist, trailing his fingers up and down her spine as he buries his nose in her hair and breathes her in. She feels like it’s the first time she’s been able to take a breath in weeks, and this seems like a happy reaction, right? Hugging is a happy reaction. Of that she’s sure.

 

“Are you happy?”

 

“The happiest man on earth in the happiest place on earth.”

“That’s Disney World.”

 

“I don’t think so, my love.”

 

He finally kisses her then, his lips so soft and gentle and loving, and she could melt right then and there. She kind of wants to. It’s sweltering out here.

 

“Um, excuse me,” someone taps on her shoulder so she pulls back to see a park employee awkwardly staring at her, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but you two either have to get in line or go somewhere else.”

 

“We’re so sorry,” Emma apologizes, already grabbing on Killian’s wrist to pull him away. “We’re just leaving. Have a good day!”

 

“Uh, same to the two of you.”

 

Emma leads Killian away from the ride and through the crowds until they’re at the entrance of the park where crowds are thinning out and there are seats in the shade. Instead of sitting outside, though, she pulls him into an air-conditioned restaurant, not even caring what they serve.

 

“You don’t want to go back to the hotel?”

 

“I want to eat and get out of this heat.”

 

“Do you also want green eggs and ham Sam I am?”

 

She rolls her eyes at him, and she probably deserves that comment. At least they’re not in the Dr. Suess section of the park. That would be too much.

 

“Are you,” she begins, pulling at the sleeves of her tee shirt, “are you okay with this? With the whole baby thing and being a dad? Like, you’re happy, right? I know I already asked, but you’ve had more time to process now or whatever.”

 

“Of course I am, Emma,” he reaches over the table to grab her hand, holding onto the palm while he trails his thumb across her knuckles. “I couldn’t be more thrilled.”

 

“Yeah? Because I’ve only known for about a week and a half, and I know we didn’t plan it or ever talk about it but – ”

 

“But you’ve given me a gift I didn’t think I’d ever get at this point in my life, and I don’t want you freaking out about it anymore.”

 

Oh she loves him so much. She cannot believe she’s got him in her life. She cannot believe they met by pure chance. It just…it doesn’t seem real.

 

“I mean, a human is going to come out of my vagina, so I’m going to freak out.”

 

Emma tries to make it a little while longer out and about, but there’s nothing she can truly do, and she’s so fatigued she thinks she could fall asleep standing up as Killian walks around with her. Despite her protests, Killian makes them go back to the hotel, stopping to buy overpriced baby clothes that they sell in the gift shops, and she’s never been more thankful for him than in that moment. The only thing she does before slipping into bed is take her shirt and bra off and fall asleep face down with only her shorts on.

 

Eventually she does awake from her nap, rolling over so that she’s on her back, rosy nipples perking from the bite of the cool air against them. Her boobs are still so sensitive, and it’s amazing to just lie like this. She doesn’t care how ridiculous she may look. It’s not like Killian’s going to mind that she doesn’t have a bra on.

 

“Feel better?” he asks, pulling her into his side so that he can rub soothing circles on her back.

 

“So much,” she moans against his shoulder, rubbing her nose into the material of his t-shirt. This back rub is _amazing_. “I’m sorry that I’ve royally screwed up our vacation.”

 

“Are you kidding? This is the best holiday I’ve ever had. Came with one Swan and am leaving with two. It’s a much better deal than the price I got on this room.”

 

Best. Baby. Daddy. Ever.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they get back to Boston two days later, Emma’s so tired that he’s practically carrying her up the stairs. She started throwing up that afternoon at the airport, and they missed their first flight because she couldn’t make it on the plane with her head in the toilet of the family bathroom, Killian holding her hair and rubbing her back as she emptied her stomach.

 

He has never seen Emma look so defeated, and is heart broke every time she thought she was finished only for another wave of nausea to hit her. Eventually he got her to sit down with some plain crackers while he went about rebooking their flights and getting them home. She slept through the entire flight, her head resting on his shoulder, and as awful as he feels that she’s so miserable, he cannot get over the fact that the two of them are going to have a child together. Half him and half Emma, though he does hope that their child is partial to Emma’s looks.

 

When she blurted out “I’m pregnant” his heart dropped to his stomach and his ears start ringing, the sounds of metal against metal and people laughing as they walked by fading away as the words replayed in his mind. He couldn’t believe it, still can’t really, but it’s happening. Oh boy…or girl is it happening.

 

He’s going to be a dad.

 

Thrilled doesn’t even begin to describe it.

 

Once they’re back in the apartment they both go to the bedroom, changing their clothes to something more comfortable out of the closet.

 

“Babe, I can’t find my plaid pajamas pants, and I cannot wear these jeans anymore. Not after today.”

 

“Just sleep in your knickers.”

 

“No I _need_ these pants. Maybe they’re in your carry on.”

 

Oh shit, no. She can’t look in his carry on. He’s got an engagement ring in there. He was going to propose, not in the rollercoaster line or anything like that. He’s not a fan of public proposals, but he was going to do it at some time that weekend, obviously getting distracted by his girlfriend’s news that they’re going to be parents.

 

“Emma, wait – ”

 

But before he can snatch away the bag she’s already holding the velvet green box, diamond ring nestled inside. She doesn’t open it, but she’d have to be blind not to know what she’s holding.

 

“Is this?”

 

He nods, his heart going insane within the walls of its chamber.

 

“Here,” she shoves it into his hand, and he doesn’t know what that means, “I don’t want to look unless you’re ready. I don’t want to ruin the moment for you.”

 

“You couldn’t ruin the moment, darling.”

 

“I mean, I found the…box. That’s pretty much ruining it. You probably had this big romantic plan and were going to get down on one knee and make some big speech that would put anything I have to say to shame. I ruined it.”

 

“Emma,” he says, kissing her lips before leaning his forehead against hers, “will you be quiet for just one moment?”

 

“I can try.”

 

He chuckles against her lips before kissing her nose and kneeling to one knee on the hardwood floor of their apartment.

 

“Emma Swan,” he begins, taking a deep breath to try to give him some time to think of a new speech since his original won’t quite work now, “love of my life, mother of my child, and my rollercoaster riding partner for life, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife so that neither of us ever have to stand in the single riders line ever again?”

 

“I love you so much, you goofball,” she leans down so that they’re eye to eye, her hands coming to cup his cheeks as she looks at him, “of course I’ll marry you.”

 

He laughs and before he can slide the ring on her finger, she captures that laugh with her lips as she wraps her arms around his neck and pushes him to the ground so that their bodies are pressed together on the floor.

 

“Emma,” he chuckles as she peppers kisses across his face, “Emma, can I please put the ring on your finger?”

 

“Oh,” she giggles, rising so that she’s straddling his lap. He already knows he’s going to feel this in the morning, but he doesn’t bloody care. “Yeah, put it on.”

 

He scrambles for the box, opening it up before sliding the ring onto her left ring finger, and it just feels right. This all feels right.

 

Left hand, but it feels right.

 

“Killian, this is gorgeous.”

 

“It was my mother’s.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Mhmm. She left it to Liam, but he wanted me to have it. He said it wasn’t fair that just because he was older that he got the ring.”

 

“Remind me to thank him later. I’d like to thank you now.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next few weeks fly by for the two of them. Once Emma makes it to the twelve-week mark of her pregnancy and has another check up with her doctor, they tell all of their friends and family. Mary Margaret already knows, but she still squeals. Emma purposefully hadn’t told anyone about the engagement yet, so when Mary Margaret hears that news, she reaches a pitch that only dogs can hear. David, Liam, and Belle have a much calmer reaction, just giving she and Killian their hugs and congratulations and well wishes.

 

“So a wife and a babe all at once,” Liam jokes, “who knew you were such an overachiever, Killian?”

 

“Are you guys going to wait until the baby comes to get married or are you doing it beforehand?”

 

“In twenty five days, actually,” Emma admits as Killian squeezes her knee to comfort her. “I’ve got an old client who works at the Regency by the harbor. There was a last minute cancellation, and since whoever cancelled has already paid in full, they’re willing to give it to us on the cheap. And my belly will still be small enough that I can get a dress I love without too much compromising. And Killian will just make the deadline of not having to take any days off because it’s the weekend before his lectures start back.”

 

Everyone looks a little bit shell shocked, but she doesn’t blame them. It’s a lot to take in, but they take it in well. She, Belle, her friend Ruby, and Mary Margaret go dress shopping every day for a week until Emma finds a sleeveless lace gown that accentuates her curves without accentuating her soon-to-be bump (not that she cares, she simply loves the dress), the tulle flowing out just below her waist. It’s beautiful, and while she never considered herself to be a white lace kind of girl, she can’t wait to wear it. Really, she wants to wear it around the apartment, but she and Killian have done so many things out of order that she wants to keep one tradition alive, so she doesn’t wear it around the apartment for Killian to see.

 

In between bouts of vomiting, Killian working on his new course material, and Emma working on her new cases, they plan a wedding. There are last minute invitations to all of their friends and the coworkers they like, even a few to Killian’s former students. Flower arrangements are ordered as well as a cake. Emma could get married in three feet of mud with nothing but a t-shirt on at this point, and she would be happy as long as there is cake. Somehow they manage to get a complete wedding together in the short span of twenty five days. Forget private investigating, Emma could make a killing off of short-notice weddings.

 

(It sounds so much better than shot gun weddings, doesn’t it? Infinitely less violent and more romantic. Like the opposite of the Red Wedding in Game of Thrones.)

 

“Darling, do we have a song?”

 

“A song?”

 

“Yes, a song for our first dance as husband and wife.”

 

“Um,” she racks her brain trying to think if they have any significant song that they could play, “not that I know of. Do you have something in mind?”

 

“Not a thing.”

 

“Don’t do something cheesy. I think I just want a normal, romantic dance. You and me, just us.”

 

“And the babe.”

 

She nods, her hands instinctively circling her stomach.

 

“And the babe.”

 

It’s raining on the day they get married, and Emma is sick. It’s all of the horrible, unlucky things that you hope against when planning a wedding, and it’s all happening to them. It’s figuratively raining cats and dogs when all Emma wants is for it to be raining men. Okay, just the one man. Just Killian. But she’s doing anything to keep from having a breakdown in a pretty white dress because Emma Swan does not have breakdowns.

 

As said before, Emma Swan is sometimes a liar.

 

And Emma Jones might be a liar one day, too, but not today because things manage to work out for the two of them, that always seems to be happening and she doesn’t care to question why as she dances with her husband, their baby resting between them as her bump has become slightly prominent now that she’s four months along.

 

The rain had managed to calm down for a thirty-minute interval and even if it wasn’t at the time on the invitation, she and Killian got married under an archway with the ocean behind them and their life in front. Killian grabbed her face and kissed the daylights out of her, dipping her to the ground, before running inside as the skies opened up again and let the rain come down.

 

She didn’t care. Let it come.

 

They’ve got a room in the hotel the next two nights, something special that Killian did since they’re not going on a honeymoon so that they can save for a new apartment or house, and it’s spectacular. The windows reach from the floor to the ceiling, the glittering lights of the boats on the ocean reflecting in the dark of the night. She’s distracted by it, watching the boats (or sometimes ships as Killian always says) floating away, a ripple effect being left in their paths.

 

Killian comes to wrap his arms around her waist and rest his head against her temple, the neatly trimmed scruff scratching her skin there as they watch the people down below walk along the sidewalk, lit by the street lamps. She closes her eyes when Killian kisses her temple, working his way down until he sucks the beginnings of a mark behind her ear.

 

“Aren’t we a little old for hickeys?” she giggles until he licks the shell of her ear and then she gasps because _oh my does that feel good_.

 

“Never,” he answers before turning her in his arms so that he can press his lips against hers, and she may be too old for hickeys and making out with her _husband_ , but she doesn’t care because Killian is a damn good kisser. She probably wouldn’t be pregnant if he wasn’t.

 

Not that the baby came from kissing per say. That’s just the precursor for what they’re about to do as soon as Killian gets her out of this dress.

 

Killian backs her away from the window without her really noticing, his lips slowly moving over hers. He tastes a bit like rum, and she never thought she would miss the drink until she couldn’t have it anymore.

 

“You taste fantastic,” she moans when he gently guides her back to sit on the edge of the bed, his lips leaving hers so that he can look at her inquisitively, one eyebrow raised.

 

“What?”

 

“You taste like rum…and wedding cake now that I think about it. Do we have anymore wedding cake up here?”

 

“They’re keeping it in the kitchen for us tonight.”

 

“Will you go get me a piece?”

 

He laughs before squatting in front of her, grabbing onto her hands as he looks up at her and smiles, pearly whites making her almost forget about the cake. “Right now?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

So while Killian makes his way downstairs to get her a piece of cake, she manages to get most of the buttons on the back of her dress undone, enough for her to shimmy out of the lace. She doesn’t bother putting anything on besides the lingerie she had on underneath, knowing that she’s going to take it off after she eats her cake, so she simply settles at the top of the bed and crosses her legs while trying to find something to watch on the TV.

 

“You know,” Killian laughs as he walks into the room, closing the door with his hip with a plate of cake in his hand, “it seems that whenever I get you into a hotel room, I have to feed you before we get to the main event.”

 

“Yes, but that first time I just really wanted pizza because I ate poorly. This time I’m having your baby, and I feel like I _need_ the cake.”

 

“So you need the cake before we,” he looks out the windows at the water, “have cake by the ocean.”

 

“Killian Jones,” she laughs, accepting the plate from him and swiping the icing off the top, “did you just quote one of the Jonas Brothers?”

 

She’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he and Liam are the Jones brothers. That’s, like, one letter away from being a teenage pop sensation.

 

“I think technically his new band isn’t called the Jonas Brothers.”

 

“How do you even know any of that?”

 

“I teach young adults, love. I know things. I’m hip.”

 

She has to put her cake on the side table because she’s laughing, is almost hysterical actually, and she can feel the laughter roll throughout her entire body. “Killian, please take off your tux. Like, right now.”

 

“But your cake.”

 

“It can wait.”

 

He starts stripping out of his tux, muttering something under his breath about _having to go get the cake and now she’s not even going to eat it_ , before crawling onto the bed and kissing up her both of her legs, lingering at her thighs before tenderly kissing her stomach, the roundness evident when she’s in nothing but her underwear.

 

“You’re so beautiful, Emma. I love you, and I love out little lad or lassie and how I can see them growing inside of you.”

 

She sighs as he continues to kiss up her belly until he gets to her breasts, running his tongue over the tops of them before fingering the white lace down so that her nipples are just out, already in hard peaks before he gingerly kisses both of them.

 

“I really like how the babe makes your breasts fill out. Remind me to thank them for that when we meet them.”

 

“Yes, go ahead and mortify baby Jones from an early age.”

 

He chuckles, his shoulders shaking as he’s careful to make sure that he doesn’t rest any of his weight on top of her, leaning down to kiss up her neck while she runs her hands over his shoulders, feeling the muscles there.

 

“That’s my plan, love. I can’t wait to make dad jokes and passionately kiss their mother so that he is embarrassed in front of all of his friends.”

 

“Or she.”

 

“Aye, or she.”

 

She chases after his lips, while he rolls his hips into hers, the thin material of their underwear the only thing between them. She can already feel how hard he is against her, and as much as she loves foreplay – she _really_ does – she kind of needs to get this show on the road.

 

She whimpers when he brushes his tongue against hers, his chest hair brushing her nipples when he pushes up to stand at the end of the bed.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Getting the show on the road.”

 

“Did I say that out loud?”

 

“Most definitely,” he laughs before yanking on her ankles to pull her to the edge of the bed, lifting up her hips to slide her panties down her thighs before sticking a pillow underneath her ass to give her hips more height.

 

She watches as Killian ever so slowly takes his briefs off, hooking his thumbs around the elastic until his cock springs out, and he makes a show of taking them all the way off, winking at her as he rolls his hips.

 

“Babe, what the hell are you doing?”

 

“I’m putting on the show that we need to get on the road.”

 

“You’re supposed to be so turned on that you whisper dirty things in my ear. You’re not supposed to be doing ridiculous strip teases.”

 

He studies her for a minute before he walks up to her, his length in his hand as he guides it through her folds, coating it in her wetness, and _oh my god that feels good_. Pregnancy sucks in a lot of ways, but right now all of her senses are heightened, and him teasing her has never felt better, especially with the way he’s repeatedly rubbing up against her bundle of nerves.

 

Killian finally takes her right leg and places it over his shoulder as he guides himself to her entrance, slowly entering her and causing her to feel that sense of fullness that she so craves.

 

“You’re always so ready for me, my darling, my love, _my wife_.” He starts his pace slowly, not at all at the roughness he used to do before she was pregnant. “And you make the best noises as we join together, you and me until we’re one.”

 

“Are you making our wedding vows dirty for me?”

 

He simply nods his head before turning it to kiss her knee, rocking into her at a torturously slow pace, but that’s what she needs tonight. She’s so keyed up that every thrust makes her walls flutter around him, her eyes closing when he finally speeds up and is hitting just the right spot.

 

Her orgasm hits her out of nowhere, and she doesn’t make a noise because of it, her head falling back as her entire body tingles and is turned into jelly. By the time she comes back to herself, Killian’s spilling himself inside of her, kissing her belly as he experiences his own bliss with her name on his lips.

 

Later Killian is curled around her, his fingers running over her belly while she finally eats that piece of cake.

 

Both types of cake by the ocean are spectacular.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re having a boy.

 

They’re having a boy, and this is the best moment of his life. If Emma asks, though, marrying her was the best moment of his life. Maybe he can have more than one.

 

He definitely does.

 

So they’re having a little lad, and while he claims to be a professional, he most definitely puts the ultrasound up on the projector to show all of his students. He gets a mixed reaction. Some of them find it cute, some find it pointless, and the others seem to be a tad bit irritated that he’s married with a child on the way.

 

When he tells Emma that when he gets home she laughs at him and pats his chest. “I told you, babe. It’s because you’re hot.”

 

“I’m glad I haven’t let myself go since I’m now married.”

 

“It’s been a month. Give it time.”

 

The weeks and months seem to pass by both at a glacial pace and as fast as a sling shot because it’s like one day Emma has the smallest of stomachs and then the next she’s rounding out as their child grows inside of her. He always thought those people who talked about what it’s like to watch your loves grow before your very eyes were exaggerating with how beautiful it is, but it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. He knows that Emma feels the same way at least half of the time when she isn’t suffering through the horrendous symptoms of pregnancies.

 

Every night they’ve taken to reading a book together out of their collection. He lies with his head cocooned between Emma’s breasts and her belly as she cards her fingers through his hair while he reads them anything from Tolstoy to Dr. Suess.

 

He likes to think his lad will take after him and be a fan of Tolstoy, but he only seems to kick when his papa is reading words that rhyme.

 

It happens every damn time.

 

Emma gives birth to a healthy baby boy on December eleventh, exactly two weeks before Christmas, weighing eight pounds and nine ounces and while she doesn’t yell directly at him throughout the entire birth, when she finds out the size of their boy her eyes grow wide before she looks at him and says with an absolutely deadpan expression, “that is your fault. I am too tiny to be having a practically nine pound baby.”

 

It’s not his best moment, and while not your typical dad joke, it’s his first one as a dad. _Oh wow, he’s a dad._

 

“I would think that you’re used to large things down there.”

 

The nurse laughs. Emma does not.

 

(She does later. Thank God.)

 

Later Emma’s fallen asleep, and he takes the opportunity to walk around the room holding their still-to-be-named child once Emma wakes up. They’d had a list, but looking at him none of those fit. So far, he’s simply Baby Jones.

 

He cannot believe that this is his life, this child and Emma, two things he never thought he could have after years of thinking that maybe he’d found someone to spend his life with only to have everything slip away. He’s glad it’s worked out this way, though, because he wouldn’t want his family to consist of anyone else but these two, his loves.

 

“Hey,” Emma says, shocking him out of the little trance he’s in watching his son holding his finger. He knows it’s a biological instinct for him to do that, but he doesn’t care. It’s still the most precious thing to him. “Can you bring him over here?”

 

“Of course, darling.” He gently hands Baby Jones over to Emma, making sure that she’s got a good hold on him before inching into the hospital bed himself so that he can wrap his arm around them, his fingers running up and down his son’s back while he kisses his wife’s temple.

 

“He needs a name.”

 

“I know.”

 

“What are we thinking, little one,” Emma runs the back of her finger over his nose. He’s got Emma’s nose. Killian’s coloring, but Emma’s nose. “Are you a classic name or something weird like your daddy?”

 

Killian laughs into her hair. “We can’t all have the most common girl name in the world, my love.” She tilts her head so that he can press a kiss against her lips. “Maybe something Irish. I have roots in Ireland.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, my name is Irish.”

 

“Huh,” Emma sighs, turning her head to look over at him, their noses brushing and their lips a hairsbreadth apart. “What are some Irish names?”

 

“Connor, Aiden,” he pauses before chuckling to himself, “Nolan.”

 

“Like David and Mary Margaret?”

 

“Exactly, though I love them, I think it might go to Dave’s head if we name our little lad after him.”

 

“Most definitely. What are some more?”

 

“Brady, Declan, um…”

 

“That’s it, Killian.”

 

“What is?”

 

“Declan.”

 

“Declan Jones.” He weighs the words on his tongue, testing the feel and the sound of them. “I like it.”

 

“So do I.”

 

So Declan Andrew Jones becomes the third member of their family, and despite being the smallest, he’s most definitely has the biggest personality.

 

He’s loud, to put it nicely, and Killian is thankful that his son was born while he was on break from school because he would never be able to leave Emma to do this alone, her body going through enough without having to take care of another human being on top of that. Neither of them have parents to help, just friends who have no experience with children, along with every parenting book that he could find.

 

As a professor who spends most of his time talking about books and how wonderful they are, he shouldn’t say this, but he does anyways: the books do not help when it’s two in the morning, your son is crying, your wife is crying, and your neighbors are threatening to call your landlord because of all of the noise.

 

“Let’s go for a drive, love.”

 

“Killian, we can’t.”

 

“We can,” he encourages, taking Declan from her arms and shuffling through drawers until he finds a comfortable onesie that’s warm enough for the December chill that they’ll encounter on their way to his car. “Go put on something warmer, and I’ll get his bag ready, okay?”

 

He has no idea if this is going to work, but he’s going to try.

 

Emma and Declan both look like human burritos as they walk out of the apartment door, soft hats covering their ears and thick socks gracing their feet as he holds the both of them close through the dark, his breath obvious every time he exhales.

 

“Let’s go for a ride, little lad,” he encourages as he buckles Declan into his seat, Emma sliding into the backseat with him. “Your mummy and daddy love rides. That’s how we met. That’s also how we made you. You’re going to love hearing about it one day. Well, not the second part but definitely the first.”

 

“How are you possibly so charming at two in the morning when in twenty degree weather with a baby who won’t stop crying?”

 

“It’s a gift, love.” He leans over to press a kiss against her lips, Emma sighing into it before leaning back into her seat.

 

He drives them along the streets of Boston, staying away from the crowded areas where people may be coming home from a late night out, until he finds open roads where he can drive along the roads without having to worry about other drivers, thankful that there’s no snow or ice to be seen.

 

He wasn’t expecting this to work, not really, but the crying stops, and when he looks in his review mirror, he sees Emma fast asleep with Declan’s hands grabbing at her wrist. He feels…full. Like he could never ask for more, not even sleep at this moment, and neither of them have slept in weeks. He keeps driving for a few more hours, risking stopping the car to get a cup of coffee, but neither of his loves awake from their slumber until he pulls back up to the apartment just as the sun is rising.

 

Their nightly drives become a thing for the first few months of Declan’s life, and while it’s a different kind of ride than the ones Emma and Killian are used to, it’s no less thrilling.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She and Killian are going on a date today, their first real one since Declan was born four and a half months ago, and she is excited. She’s not excited to leave her child. She’d like to make that clear. She always thought those people who freaked out leaving their child for the first few times were crazy, and even if they are, she’s one of those crazy people now. She’s one of those crazy people, but she also really wants to go out with Killian. They’ve always been so good at making time to go out on dates, but they’ve been so incredibly tired that it’s been difficult for them to follow through on plans, even if Mary Margaret and Liam are the best built-in babysitters in the world.

 

Last week they were supposed to go to a Saturday lunch, and when she walked out of their bedroom to go, Killian was fast asleep on the couch with Declan sleeping on top of him. She snapped a picture before going back to their room and taking a nap herself. When she woke up Killian was in bed with her, running his fingers over her arm in small circles.

 

“Why didn’t you wake me for us to go? You were looking forward to it.”

 

“I wanted to sleep, too. We can go to lunch on another day.”

 

“You and me, Emma Jones, are going to go on a date without our mini me. I promise. We’ll get a babysitter and go to town.”

 

“Are you using that phrase literally or figuratively?”

 

“Both.”

 

They don’t hit the town, but they do hit the water for Killian’s thirty-seventh birthday, the sun bright enough that it’s not too cold to go sailing. Killian has some sailing skills, but he doesn’t have enough to convince Emma to go out on the water with just them, so she gets them an instructor for the day.

 

It’s a sail of a good time, and Killian spends half of the day geeking out about different nautical terms with the instructor while she hopes that her life vest works for when Killian inevitably tips them over or hits her with the mast.

 

“Babe,” she laughs when she can tell that their instructor really doesn’t care to talk anymore while Killian simply motors on, “come here.”

 

“What, Swan? I was just telling Will here about – ”

 

She kind of loves that he still calls her Swan. It’s a force of habit that she hopes never goes away.

 

“About how you’re a nerd and forgetting your wife on your date?”

 

He stares at her for a moment before sitting down on the cushioned seat beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple. His eyes look so blue reflected in the water, and she hopes that Declan’s eyes stay like Killian’s. He already looks so much like his dad it’s insane.

 

“I’m sorry, love. ‘Tis nothing but me getting excited. It’s been a long time since I’ve done something like this.”

 

“We’ll have to do it more often then. Maybe we can visit a beach sometime this summer even though you’re working through it this year.”

 

“I’ll have a few weeks off between summer semester and fall, so that sounds like a plan. Maybe for our anniversary.”

 

When they’re finished with their sail, life jackets shed and replaced with sweaters to combat the cool air that comes with Boston spring afternoons, Emma leads him to the parking garage where his car resides, obviously surprising him when she gets in the driver’s seat even though she hates driving anything other than her old bug, which is more decoration than a working vehicle at this point.

 

“What do you think you’re doing, love?”

 

“I have a surprise for you. A birthday surprise.”

 

“I thought that was later,” he practically purrs, leaning over the center console to kiss her neck and _damn_. He’s distracting her right now, and she needs to focus. She’s excited about this.

 

“It is, but this is more exciting.”

 

“You turn thirty-seven and suddenly your wife finds mystery things more exciting than sex with you. A bloody, crying shame.”

 

“You, Killian Jones, are a dramatic ass. Just trust me.”

 

“Always.”

 

When they get to their destination she pulls into the driveway of a two-story colonial house, gray paint with bay windows that look out into an actual backyard.

 

“Where are we?” Killian questions, simply sitting in the passenger seat like some kind of frozen statue.

 

“At our possible new home, Dr. Jones.”

 

“What?”

 

“I mean, I haven’t bought it or anything. That would be crazy without talking to you. But it’s got four bedrooms, one that can be used as your study or those other kids we talk about, a backyard, and it’s so much closer to your work. You won’t get stuck in traffic every day. You could even walk.”

 

“Emma, that’s amazing.” He leans over to kiss her, and she can feel his smile. “You’re amazing.”

 

They move into the house in June, and they take a trip to Maine in July when Declan is seven months old.

 

She’s excited about this trip, just getting away from their regular lives and taking a vacation. Maybe she can even get a tan. Mostly she’s just excited that it’s a week of the three of them together. Declan does not like when Killian leaves to go to work. He absolutely loses it, so much so that despite her not wanting to at first, she takes him with her to visit Killian at work. She’s lucky in the fact that most of her job can be done at home, only the occasional trip to the office or out to investigate while Declan is already asleep.

 

One day last week he was having a meltdown, so she strapped him into his stroller and walked to the campus, stopping to talk to some of the people she’s gotten to know who work with Killian who she knows is lecturing right now. Declan has calmed down a bit, the sniffles slowing down, but when she stands at the back of Killian’s lecture hall, Declan resting on her hip, he automatically reaches his hands forward as he tries to get out of her grasp and to Killian.

 

Killian nods at her before crooking his finger so that she knows it’s okay to come into the room, walking down the stairs of the auditorium with seventy-five pairs of eyes watching her. It’s only a little weird.

 

A lot weird.

 

Declan is losing it right now, squirming incessantly until she finally hands him off to Killian who kisses his son before whispering something in his ear and looking over to her and winking, lips turned up on one side as he smiles at her.

 

“So this class,” Killian speaks, looking out at his students who are staring at them in rapt fascination, “is my wife, Emma. You’ll all get extra credit if you say hello to Emma.”

 

“Hi, Emma,” rings out throughout the room, and her face as to be as red as a tomato.

 

“And this is our son Declan, who is Harvard’s youngest student. It’s amazing really, how at only seven months he’s attending a lecture on diversity in literature.”

 

Everyone laughs, and she’s not sure if they actually find her cheesy husband funny or if they’re just playing along.

 

“I think my wife has forgotten,” he continues, looking over to her, and oh God she probably has forgotten whatever it is that he’s about to say because she has no idea what he’s about to say, “that we met two years ago today.” He looks over at her, and she knows her mouth his open in surprise because she really did forget that. “Judging by her face, she did forget. But anyways, that’s lucky for all of you because I’m going to let you all go now and cancel the reading assignment so your final on Friday will be on everything we’ve covered before today. You’re dismissed.”

 

Every single student rushes out of that room like they’re giving away free food outside, and she’s amazed by it. Killian starts packing up his bag before placing his free hand on the small of her back, Declan still on his hip, and guides her out of the room.

 

“You didn’t have to end class early. And I’m really sorry for forgetting about today.”

 

“It’s nothing, my darling,” he tells her before putting Declan in his stroller and handing him his favorite toy. “I assume he had a bit of a meltdown with me leaving this morning.”

 

“I think it may have been the worst tantrum yet.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you came. And next week there will be no separation anxiety for any of us, okay?”

 

They’ve rented a condo right on the sand, and when Declan wakes them up at seven in the morning, far too early for how late the two of them stayed up last night, they very groggily dress in shorts and t-shirts to see if Declan will actually like the sand and the water.

 

He loves the sand.

 

He hates the water.

 

Killian is not happy with this development.

 

“Babe,” she consoles as they sit on their towels in the sand, playing with Declan’s toys while he keeps dumping more sand in her lap, “he’ll like it when he gets older. Just be glad he seems to like the sand or else you and I would be sitting in that condo for an entire week.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. I quite fancy you from time to time.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

He leans over to press a kiss against her lips, and she can feel his smile in it. “Yeah, you’re my super hot baby momma.”

 

She can’t help but laugh, readjusting Declan before he starts eating the sand instead of just playing with it. “Thank you my super hot baby daddy.”

 

Eventually it does get too hot for them to be out (and it’s not just Killian in his swim trunks), so they load up all of their bags and head inside. For babies to be so small, they have more stuff than Emma has ever had in her life. It doesn’t help that their clothes are so cute and that they live near a Target.

 

Declan goes down for a nap, and Killian goes down on Emma, her face covered by a pillow so she doesn’t make any noise to wake up her child in the other room. Babies are fun sometimes, but baby making is fun most all of the time. And they are thinking about making another baby, knowing that it might take longer to get pregnant this time now that they’re actually planning on it. Funny how that always seems to work out that way.

 

“I love you, Killian,” Emma whispers against his stomach later when they’re in the living room, her head in Killian’s lap while Declan plays on the floor. “Thank you for my baby. Thank you for my life. Thank you for just being you.”

 

He looks down at her and quirks his eyebrows, those blue eyes shining in the same way that Declan’s do. “I love you, too. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

“Keep third wheeling with Liam and Belle while I do the same with David and Mary Margaret, I would guess.”

 

He pinches her side before leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss against her forehead.

 

“Aye, but now we’ve got our own third wheel, even if he is on the small side.”

 

Soon they have their fourth wheel.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Declan is four and Hope is two, Killian reads about a county fair an hour and a half away, and he insists that they go to it. Like, he will not take no for an answer insists that they go to it despite Emma protesting that they don’t need to try to corral the kids and keep them in the car for that long only to have to not let them wander off when they get to the fair. That’s too much contained energy.

 

“Killian, why are you so insistent on this?”

 

“Just trust me, darling.”

 

So the four of them load up into the car dressed for a day outside in the fall temperatures. Hope’s hair has gotten long enough that Emma can do more than simply put a bow in her blonde locks, the curly strands going into a ponytail more often that not so she doesn’t get food in her hair. For every way that she’s the opposite of Declan, the one thing that seems to run in their genes is the fact that they cannot eat without getting food all over themselves.

 

It’s a wonderful fall day, the temperature comfortable enough that everyone can simply wear a light jacket and boots. Emma found boots for toddlers last month, and now Hope owns a matching pair of boots with Emma. She’s taking this whole finally having her own mini me thing to a new level, which is nothing considering Killian bought Declan a black leather jacket the day after Emma came home with the boots.

 

They don’t bring the strollers into the fair because apparently they’re crazy, so Emma grabs onto both of her kids’ hands as tightly as possible while Killian holds onto Hope’s other hand. She’s sure that they have to be annoying to those around them, like a wall blocking the way, but these fairs always bring out suspicious people and Emma has been a private investigator for too long to trust people right off the bat.

 

(Killian is obviously the exception here, thank you very much.)

 

It’s a fun day, and she’s glad they did it. There’s not a lot for toddlers to do, but Declan sees the pumpkin patch and freaks out over how he _needs_ a pumpkin because that’s what Hope’s Halloween costume was last week.

 

“Mommy,” he insists, and she swears he just rolled his eyes while lifting one dark eyebrow to the top of his head, “I have to get the big one. Hope gets the small one because she’s smaller.”

 

“The big ones are too heavy to carry around, baby.”

 

“Not for Daddy.”

 

Killian gives her a look that says I’m too old for this before finding a medium-sized pumpkin and carrying it around for the rest of the afternoon like the super hot baby daddy that he is.

 

(He also carries around a stuffed swan he won for her, and he makes her feel like a teenager in love for the first time even at thirty four.)

 

Eventually she can tell that Hope is beginning to fade, and if she’s honest with herself, she is, too.

 

“Killian, what are we waiting on? She’s almost out.”

 

He looks over at her and smiles that beautiful smile of his, and even if they’re probably not quite as adventurous as they were when they started dating, she likes the new adventures they go on that always require car seats and snack bags. She loves him with everything she has, even when all she wants is to go home and take a nap.

 

“There’s a rollercoaster for young children here. I wanted it to be our big finish for the day.”

 

Her lips part and her eyes grow wide in surprise before squinting when she smiles.

 

“Their first rollercoaster,” she sighs, leaning up to give Killian a kiss that’s far from appropriate for where they are, and he smiles into it the entire time. “You’re brilliant, babe. Just the best.”

 

“I thought it would be good to start them on them now, even if it’s basically a train with one downhill slope. Wouldn’t want them being scared of such a wonderful thing like their mum.”

 

“I’m not scared.”

 

“You screamed bloody murder.”

 

“It’s bad to yell, mommy.”

 

She laughs before squatting down so that she’s eye level with Declan. “It is, but that was just a one time thing. Do you want to go on a ride?”

 

“Finally,” he groans, patting Emma’s face with his permanently sticky hands no matter how many times she washes them. “I’m tired of walking.”

 

“Momma, me too.”

 

“Well, let’s go then.”

 

The four of them load up onto the rollercoaster, which really is more like a train, Killian on one side and Emma on the other, their kids in between. Killian reaches over to hold her hand across their laps before looking down at the kids and saying, “you never forget your first.”

 

She never has.

 

On the way out of the fair, having gone another round on the train, they get a box of pizza to eat on the way home, Killian finally breaking his rule over only having certain foods in the car. She should have never let him, though, because she can already see the grease stains despite her patting the cheese down with napkins before she cut it up into pieces.

 

That’s the most “mom” thing she’s ever thought.

 

“Ah, look at all my little pizza prostitutes.”

 

“Killian,” she scolds, looking over to him to see that he cannot hold in his laughter as he drives them home, “you cannot call our children that. You shouldn’t even call me that.”

 

“You’re the one who came up with that phrase.”

 

“Yes, when I was making it clear that I wasn’t going to _sleep_ with you just because you provided me with pizza.”

 

“No, you did that because you had a crush on me.”

 

“Ew, mommy. You have a crush on daddy?”

 

She turns in her seat to look at Declan nibbling on his cut up pizza while Hope drinks her juice, her pale cheeks flushed red from their day outside no matter how much lotion Emma put on her in addition to the hat.

 

“I have a big crush on daddy, baby.”

 

“Ewww,” he grimaces, his face looking like he just ate something sour before he raises one of his eyebrows as he works through something. He’s Killian’s mini me in every single way. It’s amazing. “Does daddy have a crush on you, Mommy?”

 

“Daddy has an even bigger crush on Mommy,” Killian adds in, reaching over to put his hand on her thigh, squeezing the skin there and making her glad that he has a crush on her, even if it’s obviously a little more than a crush. “I think she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.”

 

“You _are_ pretty, Mommy.”

 

She laughs, twisting around to tap Declan’s feet before doing them same to Hope who’s now just babbling all of the words she knows. “Thank you, Declan.”

 

The rest of the ride is quiet, both kids falling asleep after their big day out, and when they pull up to the house Killian and Emma manage to get them changed into their pajamas and put in their beds without them waking.

 

Killian climbs into bed first, sitting up against the headboard with his glasses falling off his nose as he reads. She doesn’t let him pay too much attention to his nerdy ways, though, climbing onto his lap and straddling his thighs before sitting back onto her feet.

 

She studies him for a minute, running her hands across the scruff on his face that’s got just the tiniest bit of gray mixed in with the black, her own salt and pepper man.

 

“What are you doing, love?”

 

“I’m looking at you.”

 

“Yeah,” he laughs, moving his hand so that he’s holding her wrist, running his thumb over the bone, “I can see that. Why?”

 

“Because you’re hot.”

 

“Very eloquent, Emma.”

 

She runs her thumb across his cheek again, only stopping when she leans forward to kiss him. “How long have you been watching for a fair that has toddler friendly rollercoasters?”

 

“Since the day you told me you were pregnant.”

 

“With Hope?”

 

“With Declan.”

 

He has to be lying. There’s no way.

 

“I blurted out that I was pregnant in the middle of Universal Studios, and what, we got back to the hotel that day and you set up a google alert for county fairs so that the baby I was only ten weeks pregnant with at the time could ride on a rollercoaster with us?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“I love you, you know that?”

 

“And I you, Emma. You’ve given me the ride of my life.”

 

“Is that supposed to be a dirty joke?”

 

“I don’t know,” he laughs before grabbing her hips and flipping her over so that he’s caging her in with his body, her laughs echoing throughout the room as he lowers his lips to hers, “but you better buckle up and hold on tight.”


	5. Extra Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is literally just an extra scene. The story was finished in the last chapter, but I saw a video online of a dad creating a rollercoaster for his daughter out of a laundry basket so I wrote this drabble. I shared it on tumblr, but I'll share it with you good people as well :D

Emma had to travel to Portland for a case last week. She had stopped taking out of town cases to stay closer to home and to the kids, but this case paid well and wouldn’t take long. Turns out, it took an entire week to find the estranged husband of Mr. Brooks, and she desperately wanted to get home to her family. They didn’t even really need this money, but she could take smaller cases closer to home for the next few months because of it.

 

When she finally pulls into the driveway Saturday morning, all of the fallen leaves of golds and reds carefully pushed to the side so that they cover the grass instead of the concrete and not a toy in the front yard to be seen, she knows that Killian has somehow managed to do all of his regular yard maintenance even with work and the two monkeys on his back. Thank goodness for Declan being in kindergarten (not that she’s not still upset about her baby going to school everyday) so that they only had to find somewhere for Hope to go during the day. She knows one day Killian couldn’t get one of their normal babysitters, so Hope sat with Killian in one of his lectures and managed to draw on Killian’s projector with permanent marker. The entire class apparently lost it at Killian having to write on the chalk boards instead of using the computer.

 

She wouldn’t be surprised if all of the sidewalk chalk in the house had been thrown out after that.

 

Emma unlocks the front door and walks into the house, shedding her jacket and her hat and dropping her bag in the foyer before making her way into the kitchen to find Declan sitting at the kitchen table, funnily enough, drawing with markers. Luckily, it’s in his coloring book and not on Harvard school property.

 

It looks like Killian has combed his hair over for the day, and what the hell was her husband thinking? Declan looks exactly like Killian with his blue eyes and unruly black hair, tiny eyebrows always moving around when he’s trying to articulate something, and just like Killian, that unruly hair should _never_ be slicked down.

 

“Hey, baby,” Emma greets when Declan doesn’t notice her come in at first, and his head whips around to see her, blue eyes widening before he grins, one of his front teeth missing from where he lost his first tooth two weeks ago.

 

“Mommy,” Declan squeals, dropping his markers and scrambling out of his chair so fast that Emma barely has time to squat down and catch her son’s embrace, his tiny arms wrapping around her while she kisses the top of his head. He’s her first baby, and he’s growing up far too fast so she savors every time he’s excited to see her when she comes home.

 

He may look just like Killian, but he’s his momma’s boy, something she took pride in until Hope became attached to Killian at the hip. Then she finally understood what it was like to be the parent a kid doesn’t favor, and she’s not too found of that.

 

“Hi, buddy,” Emma repeats when she pulls back from Declan, picking him up and resting him on her hip, his scrawny little legs digging into her side. “Did you miss me?”

 

He stretches his arms out as far as he can. “This much. You were gone _forever_.”

 

“I know,” she laughs, kissing his cheek again because while being able to sleep in without interruptions is wonderful, she missed her family. She didn’t have one for so long, and she doesn’t like to leave the one she’s created with Killian, even if it’s only for six days. “Did Daddy take care of you?”

 

“He cooked something new every night,” Declan nods enthusiastically before rubbing his belly. “It was weird.”

 

Her five-year-old basically just pointed out the fact that she doesn’t cook often, and when she does, they eat spaghetti for three days in a row, but mostly she’s focusing on the fact that Killian probably cooked some fantastic food while she was gone and there’s probably leftovers in the fridge. She’s starving.

 

“So where are Daddy and Hope?”

 

“Watching TV.”

 

“You didn’t want to watch with them?”

 

Declan shakes his head before squirming out of her arms so that she has to put him on the ground. “It was Bubble Guppies and not Paw Patrol or something cool.”

 

Emma laughs before ruffling Declan’s hair and making her way back into the hallway so that she can see her other babies. They’re in the living room, but they’re most definitely not watching television. Well, something is on the television, but it’s what seems to be a video of a simulation rollercoaster, and what the hell has she just walked home to?

 

When she peers over the couch, it’s to Killian on the floor, a laundry basket with Hope inside propped up on his knees, and he’s simulating the ride so that Hope is shifting back and forth and forward and backwards, her high-pitched giggles echoing throughout the room while Killian narrates her ride using his story-teller voice, fake screaming every time they go downhill.

 

Neither of them have seen her yet, and she’s really been in the house for ten minutes for her husband to not even notice that she’s home after a week. She’s going to have to tease him about that later…you know, after she’s jumped his bones once the kids are asleep.

 

“So this is my welcoming committee,” she teases, causing both Killian and Hope to stop what they were doing to look at her, a smile blooming on Killian’s face while Hope turns back to the television and tells her dad to keep going. Killian simply shrugs his shoulders and finishes their “ride” before pulling Hope out of the basket and making his way over to Emma, placing a sloppy kiss on her lips with Hope in between them.

 

“Hi,” Killian greets, handing Hope over to Emma when he pulls back, “I’m sorry that we didn’t hear you come in. We were busy on our ride.”

 

“Daddy let me ride a rowercoaster.”

 

“Did he?” Emma questions, looking down at her daughter before giving her forehead a kiss in the same way she gave Declan one earlier before looking at Killian and raising her eyebrows. “Daddy is going to give Mommy a ride later.”

 

“You’re too big for a ride, Mommy.”

 

“No, that’s daddy.”

 

Her eyes snap back to Killian, who is waggling his eyebrows and smirking at her, and one day they’re going to have to stop making thinly-veiled dirty jokes in front of their kids.

 

“Stop,” she mouths before leaning back in to kiss him again, murmuring an _I love you_ against his lips which he happily returns. “Let’s go see your brother so you guys can tell me all about how much you’ve missed me with only your daddy here.”

 

“Daddy is the best,” Declan yells from the kitchen, and she just has to roll her eyes because their daddy is the best, even if she thinks she deserves a little recognition, too.

 

That recognition comes later when she and Killian get their kids in bed, both of them requesting a story from her and telling her they love her before drifting off to sleep, and maybe her kids do love her just as much as they love their dad.

 

“I both love and hate that you’re their favorite,” she tells Killian as she brushes her teeth, the minty paste foaming in her mouth.

 

“Please,” Killian groans before wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing the side of her neck, and wow, she’s missed that. _She’s missed him_. “You know that Declan prefers you, but both of them had meltdowns for the first three nights that you were gone. Hope literally cried herself to sleep.”

 

“Really?” Emma questions, rinsing her mouth before turning in Killian’s arms so that her back is pressed up against sink. “She did?”

 

“Aye,” he confirms, “and I hope you realize that you just smiled at our daughter crying herself to sleep over you being gone.”

 

“I know, I know,” Emma placates before standing on her toes and wrapping her arms around Killian’s neck, “but sometimes it’s just nice to know they do actually love me for doing more than feeding them.”

 

“Of course they do.” He kisses her forehead before hooking his arms under her thighs and trying to pick her up like he totally shouldn’t be doing anymore. “But I missed you the most.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” he answers before gently placing her on the bed and dipping his head to kiss her, “our bloody three year old does not like the way I braid her hair.”

 

“Oh, is that the only reason you missed me? My hair braiding skills?”

 

“Absolutely,” he teases, kissing her again. “Now about that thing you said earlier about daddy giving you a ride.”

 

She laughs even as she tells him not to make the name their children call him dirty, but all thoughts of being a responsible parent fly out of her head when she does finally get that ride.


	6. A Sleigh Ride for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is a Christmas chapter from this little verse! It's a sleigh ride full of puns and jokes and all of the ridiculousness that is this universe! As always, thanks for coming along for the ride :D

“Killian,” she moans, adjusting her position on the bed as his lips move up and down her clothed stomach before nosing at the bottom of her sweater to expose the skin beneath and planting a soft kiss there, a shiver coursing through her. “Baby, what are you doing?” she asks, running her fingers through his hair as his tongue dips into her belly button.

 

Maybe she holds him there for a second longer than he probably intended.

 

His eyes pop up to look at her even as he nibbles at the skin, soothing every bite with his tongue before harshly marking her again and causing her entire body to pulse in the building pleasure coiled within her. “I am trying to admire and appreciate the wonders of my wife’s body, but she seems to be griping despite me being prepped to do some of my best work here.”

 

“We don’t have time,” she protests even as her back arches off the bed to encourage him to continue.

 

“I can be quick.”

 

“You know that’s not a good thing, right?”

 

“It is when the kids are likely to wake up any moment now, and I bloody want you.”

 

She props herself up on her elbows as Killian continues to kiss at her stomach, moving down to the top of her thighs before going to lick and nip across the faint stretch marks on her stomach, tracing them with his tongue and driving her _absolutely wild,_ her toes curling as the wonderful pressure continues to build in her stomach.

 

“If we’re in a hurry, shouldn’t you just, you know, fuck me?”

 

Killian smiles against her stomach before crawling up the bed and hovering over her, his lips tantalizingly close to hers, just out of reach really, but she can feel his breath mixing with her own. “I’m getting there.”

 

“Can you get there a little faster?”

 

“So impatient, love.”

 

If she had been the one nipping and teasing him, he’d be a hell of a lot more impatient. But the teasing does drive her mad, and he knows that. And oh man is he good at it.

 

“You’ve been teasing me for what feels like hours. I need something.”

 

She bucks her hips up against his to prove a point, and the guttural groan Killian makes causes her to both blush and ache with need as his clothed length brushes up against her.

 

“Tell me what you need, darling.”

 

“You either get inside of me right now or your mouth gets to work on something other than talking.”

 

“So demanding.”

 

“You literally told me to be demanding.”

 

“I wasn’t complaining.”

 

“ _Killian._ ”

 

He smirks at her, the one he does before he’s up to no good, and she’s excited for it. _So fucking excited_. He moves down her body again, his tongue following his lips, and she swears she’s going to murder him when he dips his tongue into her belly button again instead of dipping his tongue where she really wants him. But then he’s backing off the bed as he slides her underwear off, his knees hitting the floor, and she can hear the slight groan he makes at how his body aches a bit resting on the hardwood instead of the softness of the bed.

 

“You okay, babe?”

 

“I may be old, but that’s not about to stop me from doing this.”

 

She laughs because he is most definitely not old, and he quirks his eyebrow to look up at her, presumably to figure out why the hell she’s laughing at him talking about his age. When she just nods back down at him, he tugs on her ankles and pulls her to the edge of the bed, causing her laughter to turn into a squeal as her ass is practically hanging off the mattress, before he hooks his arms under her thighs and throws her knees over his shoulders, feet hitting against his back.

 

“How many old men can do that?” he teases before diving in and burying himself at her core, breathing against the already sensitive flesh, the mixture of the heat of his breath and the cool air of the ceiling fan making her unsure of what exactly she wants when a minute ago she was up for just about anything.

 

Killian’s probably… _up_ …for just about anything, too. Why does she make horrible dirty jokes in her head when her husband is very intimately touching her? Is that normal? It’s probably not, and sometimes she’ll say her thoughts out loud and the two of them have to stop what they’re doing to get control of their breathing after laughing so hard. So, yeah, Killian’s up for anything. Him staying married to her is proof of that.

 

But then he flattens his tongue and gives a long swipe through her soaking folds, and _oh god oh god oh god that’s good_. He does that continuously, just licking up her slit and causing her to fist the sheets, bunching them under her hands as she arches her back as much as she can to push herself further into him. He’s building her up, but the two of them both know it’s not quite enough. She needs more from him, and as he eats her out like a man starved, she wonders if he drugged their kids or something so that they could do this without being interrupted by little feet and innocent eyes.

 

They wouldn’t be too innocent if they walked in on this because this is just indecent.

 

And so damn hot.

 

“Emma, stop thinking about the kids while I’m doing this,” he speaks against her flesh, the vibrations almost torturous now, before dipping his tongue in her entrance and thrusting it in and out as she stares down at the black mop of hair nestled between her thighs.

 

To put it simply, it’s one of her favorite views in the world.

 

“How do you – ah fuck, that’s good– h–how do you know I’m thinking about the kids?”

 

He stops his ministrations to look up at her through the dark of his stupid long eyelashes, and he’s so beautiful sometimes she cannot believe it. “I know you, and even if this is the preclude for how we make children, you shouldn’t be thinking about them.”

 

“Maybe you should be doing a better job at making me go blank then.”

 

He growls before burying his head back between her thighs, doubling his efforts, and when he finally bites her clit, she practically screams out, her nerves on edge and relieved at the harsh friction. He seems to have taken her words seriously, licking and sucking and teasing until the pressure that’s been slowly building is so good that if she doesn’t come, she might cry.

 

“Faster,” she moans, and Killian listens, increasing his speed and pushing her thighs closer so that his scruff brushes up against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, and when he firmly presses his entire face into her core, she cries out in ecstasy as her back arches further off the bed and her entire body tingles while Killian slowly brings her down by stroking his tongue through her folds, lapping up her essence.

 

She’d like to thank Universal Studios and the Incredible Hulk for her orgasm. That would be an interesting part of their online advertising.

 

 

It’d honestly probably get them more business.

 

Killian kisses the inside of her thighs, but she can’t really feel anything because they feel like jelly, and fuck that was a good orgasm.

 

So definitely not making the kids anything involving jelly later.

 

“You’re a marvel, darling.”

 

He crawls up her until his legs are nestled between her thighs as he stands at the foot of the bed, stroking himself while smiling down at her with the goofy smile he uses when he’s making a joke and not when he’s about to fuck her. He’s an absolute goofball, and she loves him so damn much that he could wear a clown mask and she wouldn’t care.

 

Okay, she takes that back. Not a clown mask. Those things have always been creepy, and she’s not clowning around when she says that.

 

“Killian,” she chuckles when his knees hit the mattress and he pushes her legs back over her stomach to give him more access to her, spreading her opening wider, “why do you have that smile on your face?”

 

He hums, the smile on his face only increasing. “I was thinking about something.”  
  


“What was it?”

 

“If I tell you, I ruin a surprise I have planned for you tomorrow.”

 

She doesn’t know what kind of surprise he could have planned, and she really, really wants to know. But she also knows that the longer they stand here and talk, the less time they have. She’d really like to fuck her husband.

 

“Get inside of me and then tell me the surprise, okay?”

 

“Again, so demanding.”

 

He lines himself up before slowly sliding into her, checking to make sure she’s okay like the gentleman he is. They’ve only been approved to have sex again for two months, but she didn’t feel like it until last week so it’s pretty much been a mad race to the finish line (literally) ever since. He gingerly begins to thrust in and out of her while holding onto her calves to keep them propped up above her. It strains her muscles a little, but it’s totally, definitely worth it.

 

“So I…fuck that’s good,” Killian grunts, the sound of his pelvis hitting her thighs quietly echoing in the room, “I was going to send you a Christmas related p-pun every day…until Christmas.”

 

She feels the snort bubble up in her throat, and even as she tries to hold it in, she can’t, the sound coming out of her throat before she knows it. Killian’s thrusts stop, and her snort turns into a whine.

 

“Keep going.”

 

“How are we going to have this conversation if I keep going?”

 

“Because you’re going to tell me the pun, which I already know is dirty, and then you’re going to fuck me into the mattress…And don’t tell me I’m demanding again.”

 

Killian nods his head, still completely immobile inside of her, and this is pun better be worth it. She sees him stifle a giggle, biting his bottom lip, and that’s hotter than she expected it to be. Even after all of these years she’s not over the way he does things.

 

She kind of wants to bite his bottom lip.

 

“When I think about you, I touch my elf.”

 

Oh wow. That’s worse than she thought.

 

She loves it.

 

“Babe,” she laughs, her stomach moving up and down with the motion, “that’s so bad.”

 

He shrugs. “I never said it was good. I promise some of them will be better, though.”

 

“Fair point. Alright, man. Chop chop. Let’s get to moving.”

 

He begins his thrusts again, this time more insistent and powerful and oh boy has she missed having this kind of connection with him. They’ve still got it, not that she ever thought that they would lose whatever it is, but it’s nice to know that they can still badly flirt and fuck…well, not badly fuck. They’re pretty good at that. Great, really. But they really, truly don’t have long, every second already more than they thought they would get, and Killian takes that to heart, pounding into her at such a furious pace that she thinks her eyes roll in the back of her head and her breasts leak milk…yep, that second thing totally happened.

 

John Mayer probably wouldn’t think that her body is a wonderland, but Killian does. Oooh, instead of Walking in a Winter Wonderland it can be Fucking in a Winter Wonderland…she’s probably ruined Christmas with that thought.

 

Killian’s breath starts getting a little shaky and his thrusts a little erratic. “You close, babe?”

 

He nods, choosing not to speak as his jaw clenches, and she already knows she’s not going to come again before him but it’s a nice, pleasurable feeling nonetheless. “I love you,” he grunts out when he starts to pulse inside of her, spilling himself, and that feels so good. She can’t…she can’t quite explain it, but it does as she whispers her love back to him. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers when he practically falls on top of her, mindful enough to prop himself up on his forearms as he kisses at her stomach again, making her truly feel beautiful even with the slightly flabby stomach and leaking breasts.

 

After he’s cleaned her up in more ways than one and the two of them get redressed in their pajamas and crawl back into bed, she hears the pitter patter of little, loud feet running down the hallway.

 

“Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse” is the biggest Christmas miracle of them all because that would never happen.

 

“Who would have thought they’d disturb us before Ada?”

 

“Me,” Killian answers, leaning over and pecking her lips before crawling out of bed and standing at the door in wait of the two rascals about to run through, scooping them both up and over his shoulders before they get a chance to tackle her on the bed, squeals emanating from their mouths while her heart swells at the sight of Killian with them. “You two been up to any shenanigans this morning?”

 

“We built a pillow fort in Ada’s room.”

 

Oh shit. She’s out of the bed before she can stop herself, and how did they not hear any of that on the baby monitor? She really, really hopes that they didn’t mess with her in the crib, and as she slides into the open door and sees that Ada is happily laying down in her perfectly fine crib, her heart practically exits her body before Killian can follow her with Declan and Hope still squirming over his shoulders.

 

“Oh baby,” she whispers, reaching over and picking up Ada and simply holding her close to her chest because she was a little (a lot) scared that they’d put sheets or blankets or pillows over the crib that may have fallen over her and strangled her without them realizing it. “I’m so happy to see you this morning, Ada bug.”

 

“Emma, are you okay? Is she okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she whispers, pressing a kiss against Ada’s dark fuzz. “I just…we have to talk to them about coming in here again without one of us.”

 

“Aye,” he agrees, and the concerned look on his face softens into a smile.

 

“What do you say we do it over breakfast?”

 

“Well,” Killian smirks, raising that eyebrow, “I already ate breakfast.”  
  


“What’d you eat, daddy?”

 

Emma’s worry fades a bit as she tries not to laugh at that extremely dirty joke and the fact that Declan asked a follow-up question. Killian should have known better.

 

“How do you guys feel about pancakes?”

 

The next morning is the first day of December, and despite it being a Saturday, Killian has to go over to Liam’s to help build a fence, which she didn’t even know Killian could do, for Liam and Belle’s new dog. She’s going to bring the kids over later, but apparently Liam wanted to get an early start mending fences.

 

Liam’s going to have to mend fences with her for taking Killian away from her when she’s got three tiny humans all on her own. Maybe she’ll just drop those tiny humans over at his house so that she and Killian can have a date. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.

 

It’s as she’s pumping her breast milk (or “Jones juice” as Killian so weirdly calls it when he’s helping to feed Ada) that her phone goes off. When she checks it, it’s from Killian, and this must be when the Christmas pun texts begin.

 

He’s very… _pun_ -ctual.

 

There’s a reason she’s not the one sending them.

 

**Killian: What do snowmen eat for breakfast? Snowflakes.**

**Killian: This fits in very well with what we did yesterday. I’ll see you later, love. It’s eight, so I hope you’re pumping it real good right now.**

**Emma: Love you even if all of your jokes are bad.**

**Killian: You love me because my jokes are bad. Don’t get it confused.**

The next few days pass, and even when Killian is with her all day, she gets a text message with a bad Christmas joke. She has no idea what has driven him to do this, but she likes it. She likes him. Okay, so that may be a bit of an understatement.

**Killian: Why did Santa go to jail? He sleighed an elf.**

**Killian: What was Santa’s favorite subject in school? Chemistree.**

**Killian: It’s not English and literature because he doesn’t have me as a professor.**

**Killian: Ooooh, literaTREE!**

**Killian: What kind of linens do gingerbread men put on their beds? Cookie sheets!**

**Killian: Can I have a picture of you so I can show Santa what I want for Christmas? Preferably without clothes or maybe in that little red number we never got to try out.**

**Killian: That also doubles as a sext, in case you didn’t pick up on that.**

**Killian: Or better yet, you can ride my sleigh.**

* * *

 

He didn’t think grading finals would ever end. He thought he’d be stuck in his office forever and eventually die there when the snow piled up outside and no one bothered to look for him because everyone is supposed to be home for the holidays. Well, no. His students would probably want their final essay grades back, and some of them would most definitely dive through the snow to get him to hand over their grades if he doesn’t post them online in enough time.

 

University students can get violent about their grades. It’s probably what he deserves after he puts them through hell every semester.

 

And maybe Emma would show up to try to find him once his Christmas puns stopped coming…or maybe she wouldn’t _because_ his Christmas puns stop coming. He’s not too sure which way she’s leaning because he can’t see her face when she gets the texts. He likes to think that she smiles at them.

 

He knows that she smiles at them.

 

But he’s just finished entering the last grade into the computer, and he lifts his arms in elation, letting out a whoop that echoes throughout the empty walls of his office. No part of him feels ridiculous. He feels jolly.

 

He’s been reading too many Christmas-themed jokes.

 

After he finishes packing up everything he’ll need over the break, he locks his door and makes his way home, walking several blocks from campus to their house where he knows Emma is probably about ready to pull her hair out as she and the kids finish getting the rest of the decorations ready for them to decorate tonight. They’re trying to get it done before Declan’s birthday party on Tuesday, but it’s a bit difficult to get everything done, their lives a constant balancing act. And with him still loaded down with work until this very moment, their house has been awfully bare of anything remotely festive.

 

It's a crying shame because there’s no one who loves Christmas more than Emma. She’d once admitted to him that she had hated it because she’d never had a family to celebrate with, and ever since that vulnerable moment, all he’s wanted is for her to know that she’s always got him. And now the kids, too. He’s watched her eyes lighten every year as the Christmas season passes, from that first one they spent together with Liam and Belle with Belle’s family in Storybrooke to the one they spent as parents to a two-week old who wouldn’t stop crying and to this one, the five of them in their house with all of the glass ornaments replaced with plastic ones and children’s movies playing on the television instead of his personal favorite of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

 

Of course, they could watch that. It’s not like the kids would get any of the references, but he’s just going to save that for when he and Emma are up with Ada, who will hopefully not be scarred by anything her little blue eyes see. She’s not even four months, so he thinks that they should be fine. They’ll screw her up later.

 

“Honey, I’m home,” he mock yells as he walks through the front door, kicking his boots off and putting them on the shoe rack that no one else but he and Hope use.

 

“I know you’re making a reference, but it weirds me out when you call me honey.”

 

“Why would it weird you out?” he questions as he follows the sound of her voice to the living room to find her standing suspiciously by herself with a baby strapped to her chest as she hangs ornaments on the tree.

 

“Because you don’t call me honey.”

 

He hums, walking up behind her so that he can caress her neck with his chin, the bristles of his scruff causing her to giggle and squirm away from him even as he holds onto her hips to keep her next to him. “But you,” he latches his lips onto her ear, “are as sweet as honey.”

 

“You’re such a flirt.”

 

“Aye, so are you, but you don’t see me complaining.”

 

She laughs before turning to fully face him, leaning over the baby now resting between them to press a kiss against his lips. “Hi, babe. I’m glad you’re home.”

 

“Me, too. Now, I don’t mean to pry but,” he leans down to kiss the top of Ada’s hair, listening to her little giggles she always makes when he kisses her, “don’t we have more of these?”

 

“They’re napping.”

 

“Like, actually sleeping or they’re just supposed to be sleeping?”

 

“Actually sleeping.”

 

“Well, aren’t you amazing?”

 

“I am,” she agrees, and she’s not teasing him there. “Now help me hang the rest of these up, but leave all of the blue ones for Dec and the three pepperoni pizza ones for Hope. The two cheese ones are okay for you to hang though.”

 

“Why in the world?”

 

“I don’t know. That’s just what they both said. The Hope thing is totally on you for buying pizza ornaments.”

 

“Well, you know you’re all my – ”

 

“Pizza prostitutes, yeah yeah. I’m never living it down. I was just trying to make sure you knew that my intentions for sleeping with you were pure.”

 

“It was a very memorable night, love, and not a single bit of it was pure. I feel like you wouldn’t want to live it down.”

 

She smiles then, and it’s the smile she reserves just for him. Not for their kids. Not for their friends and families. For him. It makes something swell in his stomach, and he’s so very glad that she loves him the way that she does. He doesn’t know how he ever deserved someone as wonderful as his wife, but he’s thankful for her every day, even on the days where they love each other but don’t like each other very much. Maybe especially on those days.

 

“So everything but the blue ornaments and the pepperoni pizza ones, yeah?” he questions, squatting down to pick up several ornaments on his fingers, hooking them around the tips, before starting to hang ornaments in the empty spots at the top of the tree where Emma can’t reach.

 

The two of them, well three, go on like that for awhile, hanging ornaments on the tree so that the winter green bristles are suddenly being covered by the glow of the multi-colored globes, the lights causing the colors to mix together and shine in a way that they usually wouldn’t. When he lived alone, he always decorated his tree by himself, and the ornaments all matched each other, like something you’d see in a magazine. And while they still use his ornaments as Emma didn’t really have any, the tree is also filled with homemade crafts from Declan that he made at school or little tiny things that Emma’s made with the kids over the years. There’s one in the box somewhere that he knows says _Jones Family established 2018_ and then several more that say things like _Baby’s First Christmas._ They’ve got a new one for Ada this year, and it makes him a bit sad that it’ll be the last of his babies’ first Christmases. But he wouldn’t change a single thing.

 

And then, of course, there’s the pizza ornaments and a few trains in there, and a custom-made rollercoaster ornament he bought Emma the first Christmas they were together. She’d laughed so hard when she unwrapped it in the guest room of Belle’s parents’ house, and the sound had been sweeter than any music he’d ever heard.

 

Almost on cue, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas comes on over the speakers Emma’s got set up with the television, and as she hums the song underneath her breath, almost like she’s humming to Ada more than humming along to herself, and isn’t his life simply wonderful?

 

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s on a two-week vacation, or maybe it’s just the fact that he really does love his life that all of these sentimental facts are popping into his head.   
  


“Emma, love?” he ponders, letting her finish up the two ornaments she’s trying to hang, her bottom lip between her teeth and her humming stopped while she’s contemplating this very serious decision of where to place the ornaments.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Would you like to dance with me?”

 

He offers his hand before she can say yes (or no), and she takes it, her small palm enveloped in his as he guides her to the middle of their living room where there’s an open space among all of the furniture and children’s toys. It’s a bit awkward having Ada between them, but it’s nothing he’s not used to as he slowly spins Emma around and sings along with the song, making her laugh and smile with the entirety of her face. The loose hairs that have escaped from her braids start to fall out even further, getting stuck in her eyes and her mouth as she blows on them to keep them out of her view.

 

“Killian,” she giggles when he spins her again, Ada now firmly snoozing despite all the movement and noise, “you’re ridiculous.”

 

“Most likely. But I have the smooth moves, don’t I?”

 

“The moves like Jagger, babe.”

 

“I was thinking more like Astaire.”

 

“Just call me Ginger.”

 

When the song winds down, they’re both a bit winded, but that’s more from the laughing than any physical exertion. He should dance with her more. Maybe they’ll get a babysitter and he’ll take her out somewhere nice. Or maybe they’ll continue to twirl around their home. It probably doesn’t matter too much as long as she’s happy.

 

Eventually Declan and Hope come running down the stairs, Declan’s long legs carrying him much more quickly than Hope’s small ones, and they “help” finish decorating the tree, the bottom a little blue heavy with a few pepperoni pizza ornaments sprinkled in.

 

“It’s like magic,” Hope sighs, her high-pitched voice lowering, when they turn the lights off and close the curtains so that they can look at their creation glowing in the darkness.

 

And it kind of is.

 

The next few days pass quickly now that he gets to be at home with everyone. Emma stopped taking cases after Thanksgiving so they could have these few weeks together with no work, so when he wakes up every morning with no alarm other than Ada, Emma’s always beside him. Instead of texting her his Christmas jokes, he starts writing them on sticky notes or stationary, anywhere he can think of that she’ll see.

 

He leaves the appropriate ones outside so the kids can see them as well, but whenever his mind conjures up something that shouldn’t be shared, he leaves that in their room.

 

_You can jingle my balls, baby_. He writes that one on a note and leaves it on her pillow right before bed. She laughs so hard before riding him into oblivion while her chest still heaves with laughter.

 

_Why can’t vampires bite snowmen? They’ll get frostbite._ He writes that on the dry erase board on their fridge, even drawing a little snowman with fangs that Declan tries to recreate in the snow outside. It doesn’t work out very well, but they have five snowmen in their front yard. The neighbors must be incredibly jealous.

 

_What do baby elfs learn in Kindergarten at the North Pole? The elf-abet._ He buys extra bath letters to spell that one out in the bathtub while bathing Hope and Ada.

 

_You don’t need mistletoe to get me interested, my love._ It hangs from the mistletoe he puts right over their bed, and Emma’s laugh when she finds it causes his heart to beat rapidly within his chest.

 

_Why are turkeys so good at playing Christmas music? They have drum sticks._ That one goes on a note on the turkey in the freezer, and he’s still waiting on Emma to find it. He’s the one who is cooking anyways, so that one is probably a lost cause.

 

_Shouldn’t you be on top of the tree, Angel? Or maybe on top of me_. That one goes on her side of the sink in the bathroom, and she simply shakes her head as they brush their teeth before making a promise of later.

 

* * *

 

Emma somehow convinced Mary Margaret to watch both Leo and all of her children, and that woman’s name is appropriate because she is a saint. An actual saint. Who in their right mind would want to watch three kids of all different ages plus her own toddler all for free? Emma’s not even sure that there’s food in the house for everyone.

 

“I love you, Marg,” she tells her after she and Killian have hugged everyone goodbye. “Like, seriously. We owe you big time, and if you need anything, call and we’ll come straight home.”

 

“You’re supposed to be going on a date. I’ve been instructed not to call unless the house is on fire. And maybe not even then.”

 

She spins around to look at Killian who simply shrugs, like he’s not going to admit to being the one to admit to telling Mary Margaret not to call, even though it would literally not be anyone else. “C’mon, love,” he encourages, placing his hand on her lower back as he not-so-gently guides her to the car. “This is going to be fun. I promise.”

 

As they’re riding to wherever Killian is taking her (He won’t tell her. He just picked out her outfit of jeans and a fitted black turtleneck sweater with warms accessories, so she really fears that they’re going to be outside in the snow for this entire thing), they listen to Christmas music, songs she knows by heart playing over and over again as she watches the bare tree branches be slowly covered by the white powder of snow. It’s beautiful, and while she hates driving in it, she does like watching it as they travel at least an hour away from home, idly talking whenever either of them have something to say.

 

“You know, if I were the Grinch, I’d steal you for Christmas.”

 

“But what are you going to do if you’ve already stolen my heart?”

 

She turns her head to look over at Killian, and she can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing from the way his jaw clenches. She ruined his joke, and she’s not even sorry. Reaching over to place her hand on the inside of his knee, she squeezes him before resting her hand there, running her thumb back and forth.

 

“How would that work logistically speaking?” she continues, watching his profile and seeing the sunlight bring out the ginger in his beard. “How would you steal me? And if you did steal me, don’t you think the kids would be able to find me? The first two might not care, but the last one needs Jones Juice. And I hate to break it to you, but you can’t provide that for her.”

 

He snorts, releasing the steering wheel with his right hand to place it over hers. “You just said Jones Juice out loud, love. I’m finally wearing you down.”

 

“I know,” she sighs, and they should go for rides in the car more often. None of their kids have needed the car to fall asleep at night since Declan, and she misses it. It was obviously inconvenient, but she felt so close to everyone riding in the darkness of the car, music softly playing in the background as Killian drove them around, the only lights coming from the headlights and the occasional streetlight. Maybe they’ll drive around and look at Christmas lights before the holiday season is over. “It’s super weird, and I’m sure other people would hardcore judge us. But I don’t care.”

 

“Good.”

 

When they finally get to this super secret location, a giddy smile breaks out on her face over seeing it’s a winter carnival already full of families running around. For a brief moment she thinks they should have brought the kids, but, no, this is right. They should have time for just the two of them, and this is so much better than simply going out to eat.

 

“You’re brilliant, babe.”

 

“I know.”

 

She doesn’t bother playfully reprimanding him because he should know that he’s brilliant. He really should.

 

The first thing they do is ice skate. Well, attempt to ice skate. She’s never done it before, and it takes Killian fifteen minutes and the promise of all of the hot chocolates that she wants plus some sort of baked good to make up for when she inevitably falls and busts her ass on the ice.

 

If you fall on the ice, does the ice automatically start icing your injury? Probably not or hockey players wouldn’t have to have all of that padding. Or maybe that’s to protect against the blades. Or maybe the punching. There’s a lot of punching in hockey. Should she be wearing padding? Like, that should be a requirement for anyone getting on skates and then on ice. And maybe a helmet.

 

She’s been a mom for too long for all her thoughts to be based on safety.

 

Or maybe she wants to be able to walk tomorrow.

 

The only reason she shouldn’t be able to walk the next day is because Killian repeatedly fucks her into the mattress. Ice skating just isn’t going to cut it as a reason.

 

“It’s going to be fine, love,” he encourages, stepping out onto the little artificial pond, and she feels pathetic watching all of the small children zooming by while she hasn’t even gotten on the ice yet. “I’m going to hold you the entire time, and I’m never letting go, yeah?”

 

“Do you promise you’re not going to do that thing where you fake drop me?”

 

His mouth ticks up on one side before he schools his features. “I’ll have to think of another plan to sweep you off your feet then.”

 

“It doesn’t count as sweeping me off of my feet if I land on my ass.”

 

“But you won’t be on your feet.”

 

He eventually gets her out on the ice, and it is terrifying. She hasn’t been this nervous about something since she gave birth for the first time, and she was drugged then. She’s thinking drugs aren’t really a choice now.

 

An epidural would be a guaranteed way for her to bust her ass. That thing turns your legs into noodles and whew. It’s weird.

 

The more Killian moves her around the rink, the bastard skating backwards as he guides her in slow circles holding onto her hands through their gloves, the more comfortable she feels. But then Killian lets her hands go and she nearly tumbles forward until he catches her, her arms wrapping around his rumbling chest while she tries to keep her heart from pumping itself out of her chest.

 

“You are on thin ice, Killian Jones.”

 

“Was that a winter themed pun, darling?”

 

“You’re not the only one who can make them. I’ve got one for later that I think is really going to blow your mind.”

 

“Well that sounds intriguing.”

 

As promised, he doesn’t make her spend too much time on the ice, helping her off and back into her shoes before buying her the largest hot chocolate they can find. He even goes so far as to walk around to several booths looking for cinnamon for her, and she loves this man so damn much. It doesn’t seem like a big thing, and it really isn’t, but it’s the little moments in life that are most important to her even with all of the wonderful big moments.

 

They walk around the festival, stopping at all of the little booths until they get to the Ferris wheel that’s set up at the end of the park. She knew this was the main reason they were here the moment they pulled up in the parking lot and she saw the colorful ride.

 

It’s difficult to find time to go on rides (both the amusement park ones and the ones that amuse the two of them), but even if they haven’t been back to the place they met since she told Killian she was pregnant with Declan for the first time, they make a point to find some sort of ride to go on together every year. At least three times it’s been the carousal at Frog Pond in the Commons, but she wouldn’t trade it for a thing. One time they did that and a Swan boat ride after their fourth anniversary dinner date, and she and Killian only tried to push each other into the water one time for every year that they were married.

 

Okay, maybe multiple that by five.

 

As they stand in line, she starts to shiver, the chill of the air nipping at her skin. She really wasn’t expecting it to be so cold even being all bundled up, and she moves further into Killian’s side so that she can rest her head against his cheek, the soft bristles of his scruff pressing into her beanie and parts of her forehead as his arm rests against her waist while his hand runs in soothing circles over her back, tugging her closer to him in a comforting embrace the keeps the both of them warm.

 

“I love you, darling,” he whispers against her temple, his hand still moving while his cheek nuzzles into her a bit more.

 

“I love you, too. Why are we doing this again?”

 

She knows she just thought about it, but she wasn’t this cold ten minutes ago. She’s not Elsa from Frozen. The cold bothers her, and she can’t let it go.

 

(She may have figured out a way to block that movie on Netflix, though, because she couldn’t watch it one more time.)

 

“Because it’s tradition, and you were pregnant on our anniversary.”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s entirely your fault.”  
  


“I believe it takes two to tango, love.”

 

Eventually the two of them load up into their little pod, and she breathes out a sigh of relief at the warmth inside of the ride only for her to lose her breath as the ride gets higher and higher. It’s just dark enough outside that all of the Christmas lights in the neighborhood behind the park have been turned on, and all she can see is the twinkling of multi-colored Christmas lights and trees lining the streets with the slightest bit of white snow still visible. It’s stunning, and she wishes that they could stay up at the top for the tiniest bit longer.

 

 Not that she wants the ride to break down. She’s not crazy. She’s simply enjoying the moment.

 

As they start to descend, Killian cups her cheeks and presses a fierce kiss against her mouth, moving his lips over hers and basically doing the equivalent of making out with her until they’re back on the ground and the poor ride attendant has to bang on their pod to get them to stop and get off the ride, the teenager looking thoroughly disgusted.

 

“Are we so old now that we disgust teenagers when we make out?”

 

“I still think we’re pretty hot, but I don’t think teenagers want to watch any adult make out.”

 

“So what was that pun you wanted to tell me earlier, love?”

 

“How about I slide down your chimney and make this a not-so-silent night?”

 

* * *

 

On Christmas Eve all of their friends and family come to the house, the sounds of voices echoing all throughout the walls of the home with the voices of Rudolph and Frosty on the television entertaining Declan, Hope, and Leo while all of the adults talk. Of course, he doesn’t really get to do a lot of talking since he’s in the kitchen making dinner for everyone. He doesn’t mind. He likes it, and he knows that it’ll be worth it in the end to eat something all the way cooked through instead of something that Liam or Emma made.

 

“Hey, babe?” Emma calls, walking into the kitchen in her plaid pajamas, the same ones he’s wearing. Mary Margaret had insisted that each family wear their own set of pajamas, and finding pajamas that don’t look ridiculous on a forty-two-year-old man and a four-month-old is quite the challenge. He thinks he and Ada are pulling it off, though.

 

He’d like to pull Emma’s off of her, but it’s five in the evening and they have a house full of people.

 

He also has a Santa hat on top of his head, so he’s probably not the most attractive he’s ever been to Emma.

 

He hums in response to her question, looking over from where he’s finishing the macaroni and cheese topping to see Emma hopping up on the kitchen counter, her legs swinging beneath her until he stops what he’s doing and settles himself between her thighs, his hand snaking up underneath her shirt, feeling the soft skin of her stomach, while her hand runs against the muscles of his chest. He dips his head to kiss her, his lips slanting over hers while the scent and taste of the cinnamon on the hot chocolate she was drinking earlier invade him. This is definitely not what they’re supposed to be doing right now, but he doesn’t bloody care.

 

When he pulls back, his lungs protesting for air, he rests his forehead against Emma’s while her fingers start playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, right under his hat.

 

So maybe he’s still got it going on.

 

“Now, what was I in here for?” she sighs against his lips, bringing her bottom one between her teeth.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Obviously not. You’re doing some good work in here.”

 

“With the cooking?”

 

“I was talking about the kissing, but I’m sure the cooking is good, too.”

 

She pushes herself up to capture his lips again, and that’s exactly when he hears the sound of Ada crying and his brother’s soothing tones getting closer to them so the sounds aren’t simply background noise. He and Emma pull back from each other to see Liam smirking at them with an absolutely wailing baby in his arms.

 

“Look Ada,” Liam coos, “Mummy is kissing Santa Claus.”

 

“She’s hungry. I’ve got to feed her, babe.” She pushes him back so that he releases her hips, letting her hop down and take Ada from Liam, the cries already calming a bit. Emma sits down at the window bench to feed Ada, unbuttoning her shirt, and Liam almost falls to the ground as he tries to turn to look away from Emma.

 

“Liam,” Emma laughs, adjusting Ada in her arms, “you don’t have to freak out. You’ve seen breasts before. You’re married.”

 

“Not my brother’s wife’s.”

 

“Well, there was that one time – ”

 

“That we don’t talk about, yes,” Liam insists, not letting him finish his sentence. That had been quite a series of unfortunate events that caused Liam to blush every time he looked at Emma for weeks afterward. “I just don’t think it’s good form. I’ve seen enough of the two of you for my lifetime.”

 

“Killian, why don’t you get Liam to finish helping you cook? I don’t think he’s going to want to eat in the same way Ada is, and he can’t do that if you don’t finish cooking the food.”

 

Liam groans like he’s just been stabbed, and Killian has to stifle his laugh. “The two of you are the worst. Just, the worst.”

 

“I’d say we’re the breast.”

 

Liam’s groan only increases, his face turning as red as the Santa hat still gracing Killian’s head, and his brother really is so easily embarrassed for a man in his mid forties.

 

Eventually all of the prep work is finished and while the food cooks, everyone settles down into the living room, Ada now snoozing in the crook of left his arm while his right arm his wrapped around Emma’s shoulder and his fingers are playing with her hair, feeling the soft strands fall between his fingers.

 

“So how much longer until dinner’s ready?” David questions as he helps Hope and Leo play with some of the toys that are scattered around the room. Their house is a disaster, and he doesn’t even care. He’ll care in three or four days, but right now he can live with it.

 

“About thirty minutes, Dave, but you’re welcome to eat some of Santa’s cookies if you’re that hungry.”

 

All three kids in the room who can talk yell out different versions of “no,” their little faces contorted in shock and maybe a bit of anger, and he honestly didn’t think through that comment.

 

“If Uncle David eats the cookies,” Declan whines, scrambling over to him, his knobby knees digging to Killian’s legs while he tries to adjust Ada in his arm, “then Santa won’t come. And I’ve been waiting for Santa _all year_.”

 

“I was just kidding, buddy,” Killian reassures, and Emma pulls Declan further over into her lap. “Uncle David isn’t going to eat the cookies. We all made those for Santa, and they’re staying that way.”

 

“Good. Because I worked hard on those, and Mommy wouldn’t let me have one even out of our special cookies.”

 

“After dinner, Dec,” Emma reminds him, pushing his hair off of his forehead. “Remember? We’re good all day, and then after dinner we get one cookie.”

 

Bribery. The secret to parenthood when you’ve given up on trying to do things the right way.

 

Hell, Emma bribes him with things sometimes, too.

 

After everyone leaves and the kids go to sleep (wow did that take forever), he and Emma start getting everything set up for the morning. Being Santa is more difficult than he thought, and as he and Emma place the reindeer slippers they bought for the kids to wear in the morning outside of their doors, he has to be careful not to step on any of the creaks in the floor.

 

“You know, darling,” he whispers, his voice sounding louder than he intended, “if we keep going how we’re going, we’ll have enough little reindeer to power the sleigh.”

 

“Santa’s workshop is closed, babe.”

 

“Well, according to Liam, I’m Santa, and my workshop is still working just fine.”

 

Her face scrunches up in laughter. “Do you just sit around and thinking of ways to make Christmas dirty?”

 

“Yes. And I still haven’t given you your pun for the day.”

 

“I know. I’ve been looking for it all day, but I can’t find it.”

 

“That’s because I’m going to tell to you later. If you’re nice.” He slaps her ass, and she squeals. “Or maybe if you’re naughty.”

 

They sneak downstairs to start putting the presents they’ve been hiding in the top of their closet on the couch in the living room, distinguishing from Santa gifts and gifts from mom and dad. Sometimes he feels as if they go a little overboard, and they probably do, but they can give their children the things that the two of them never had. Declan is the only one who made a list for Santa, and one of those things was a lizard, so that’s definitely not happening. But then there were the normal things such as toys and books (okay, so maybe the kids didn’t actually ask for books). Their big thing is a new playset in the backyard, one that will last for years for all three of them, and as much as he loves his children, he does not love the fact that he’s freezing his ass off trying to set it up with Emma at eleven at night with nothing but a flashlight and the neighbor’s kitchen light guiding him.

 

Sometimes he wishes Santa was real because then he wouldn’t have to do things like this, his breath coming out in white puffs while he tries to silently hammer in the nail to hold the attached swing set up. Emma’s been cursing over on the other side of him as she works on the slide, and this was not their smartest decision. He’s also genuinely surprised by the fact that the two of them haven’t let their language slip in front of the kids. Well, maybe Ada. But she’s not going to remember any of it right now.

 

Like he continues to say, they’ll screw her up later.

 

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” Emma complains hours later when they’ve got it all set up, and he’s testing it out under his weight to make sure nothing will fall as he munches on Santa’s cookies.

 

“Are you referencing the song or are you just trying to get me to go back inside instead of making sure this thing isn’t going to fall and crush our children like the wicked witch of the east?”

 

“The second part. I think I’ve gone numb.”

 

She shivers, and even if it’s exaggerated for dramatic effect, he knows that it’s real.

 

“I’ll hold you to keep you warm.”

 

“You can do that in _inside_.”

 

“I feel like we’re partaking in a different version of the song right now, darling.”

 

“We don’t rhyme.”

 

“Give us time.”

 

“God, you’re stupid.”

 

He smirks, and she’s going to hate him for this. Or love him. He thinks that she loves his quirkiness. Okay, he knows that she loves his quirkiness.

 

“But you’ve been hit by the arrow of cupid.”

 

Even in the darkness he can see her roll her eyes before a smile forms on her face. It’s far past midnight, the two of them are likely to get no sleep, especially since he’s sure Ada’s monitor will go off any minute, and the two of them are most likely delusional. “Wrong holiday.”

 

Like clockwork, the monitor goes off, and he and Emma finally go inside, the two of them taking care of Ada before he settles down into bed while Emma grabs a sweater out of the closet and rests her hip against the wall of the closet and stares at him. Like, really stares at him. Stares at him with such attention that he thinks she might drill a hole in his head.

 

“What, love?”

 

“You missed your pun for yesterday.”

 

“Technically, we haven’t gone to sleep, so we still have time.”

 

“Okay then,” she sighs, walking to her side of the bed and crawling under the covers, settling herself on the opposite side of the bed to him, and that just won’t do for his purposes.

 

Smiling and raising his eyebrow, he tries to keep his voice serious as he speaks. “Why are you over there when there’s a perfectly good lap over here? One could say – ”

 

“Killian, I swear if you say come sit on Santa’s lap.”

 

“Dammit, love. That was my pun for the day.”

 

She laughs before rolling over in bed until she’s settling herself over his lap, her knees and elbows momentarily hitting him until she gets settled and wraps her arms around his neck, her hands playing in his hair while he rests his hands on her waist, feeling the still cold skin there.

 

“I know you better than you know yourself, Killian Jones. I saw that one coming from a mile away.”

 

“I know, but I was saving it because my one for tomorrow is much more romantic, and I needed to balance it out.”

 

“Romantic, you say?”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“It’s technically Christmas. Can I hear it now?”

 

“After we’ve slept. I promise. Now, dare I say, Santa’s not the only one coming tonight.”

 

He kisses her before they both settle down into bed, falling into each other before falling asleep and hoping that their little elves don’t come running into the room for a few more hours.

 

The baby monitor goes off again an hour later, and Declan and Hope come in an hour after that. Oh to be young and so excited for Christmas that you can’t sleep. He and Emma also can’t sleep, and he thinks this must be some kind of retribution for all of his sins in life. He’s not sure which one caused him to have his son be so bony that he feels like he’s being stabbed when Declan crawls over him, but damn that must have been a bad one.

 

Hope is much more gentle with her movements, always soft and caring until Declan says something to rile her up and she stands with her hands on her hips and a look of pure Emma on her face. But this morning, well, she jumps onto the bed, practically squealing that they need to go see if Santa came last night (Santa did, but the kids don’t need to know why he has to hide a snicker).

 

The entire morning passes in some kind of Christmas-themed blur, reds and greens filling his brain as he follows after little feet to throw away wrapping paper and ribbons that leave seemingly ever-growing trails of glitter on every surface of the house. And then they show the kids the playset outside, and it’s chasing after little hands and feet to make sure they do not break those very hands and feet. It’s a wonderful, glorious morning, and he never wants to forget a moment of it.

 

Eventually the high of Christmas does run out for the kids, and he and Emma collapse onto the couch. For the first time in two days, not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse. Emma rests her head on his lap, and his fingers play with her hair, messy and tangled from her lack of brushing it this morning. Exhausted, un-showered, and feeling like they’ve just been hit by a truck (or a sleigh) is pretty much their usual state, but Emma still looks up at him with bright green eyes and a small smile.

 

“You want to exchange our presents now?”

 

“What makes you think I got you something besides what was under the tree?”

 

“Because that’s what we’ve always done.”

 

He smiles, gently moving her head before he gets up to retrieve the small box from behind the television while Emma goes to get a box out of the kitchen, where it’s not so slyly been hidden for a week now. They sit back down on the couch, handing each other the boxes, and it’s almost comical the way they both rip into the packages. The kids obviously get it from someone.

 

But he waits to truly open his until Emma has opened hers.

 

“Merry Christmas, my love,” she reads out loud, a smile blooming on her face when she quickly looks over at him, “I’m so glad you _married_ me. Aw, babe. That’s my favorite of your cheesy puns yet.”

 

She kisses him before going to open the small box, revealing the diamond earrings he’s been thrilled to see her open. They don’t give each other a lot of expensive gifts, the two of them not craving such things, but it’s been a hell of a year with a surprising new baby and all that’s accompanied that.

 

“These are beautiful,” she gasps, her fingers running over the jewels before she looks back at him. “You didn’t have to do this, and now I feel kind of guilty over my gift.”

 

“Why would you feel guilty?”

 

“Because I made it instead of buying you anything. Do you know how damn hard you are to buy for?”

 

“Bloody difficult, but I’m sure I’ll love it. Can I open it?”

 

“Yeah,” she nods. “Open it. I got the idea from all of your puns, I guess in a roundabout way. We had that box of all of our sentimental stuff just sitting in the closet, and I thought I’d combine it. Something that we could set out on the coffee table and look at all the time. Or maybe you can take to the office so you have a piece of home there.”

 

When he finishes unwrapping the paper, it’s to reveal a photo album, and the more he flips through it, the more he realizes that she’s chronicled their entire relationship, pictures and small paper souvenirs as well as things the kids have made. It’s, well, it’s everything to him to have small snapshots of all of the memories they’ve made since they met. Sod fancy gifts when he has the life that he has.

 

He cups Emma’s face with his free hand, and she leans into his palm, her eyes fluttering closed and only opening when he rests his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together when he speaks. “This is wonderful, Emma. I – I love it, darling. This is everything. You’re everything. You and the kids.”

 

She smiles at him, and nearly every time he sees that smile, he thinks of how thankful he is for a chance meeting in line for a rollercoaster. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he things hadn’t aligned for them to meet that day, but he doesn’t think about it too much. Things have happened how they did, and he’s not going to question a single part of it, not when he has his family.

 

“Merry Christmas, Killian.”

 

“Happy Christmas, Emma.”

 

His life is a wonderful ride, and he never wants it to stop.


	7. Look Ma, I'm on the Internet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, look what's back!
> 
> I was sent an article about a woman who lost her fully grown boyfriend in Epcot, and well, there's now a quickly written new addition to Single Riders Won't Stay Single. I hope you enjoy :D

“Okay, so what are the rules, guys?” she asks as Killian drives them into the park. She knows that they’re not listening, that Declan and Hope are too hyped up on adrenaline for their first trip to Disney World after literal years (according to Declan as he so eloquently puts it every single time they talk about it) of anticipation. She’s not necessarily thrilled over the trip, personally partial to Universal herself, but as she’s learned, her kids don’t exactly care when or how mommy and daddy met. 

  
  
They literally only care about the fact that they’re going to Disney World, which is all Declan has talked about since his friend Jackson went over summer break last year and couldn’t stop talking about it. Seriously, the kid can work in Mickey Mouse in a conversation about politics. He’s eight. He’s not talking about politics. But he could still work it in. She’d bet good money on it.

  
  
At least she as Ada to talk to about how she and Killian met. She’s two and can’t do anything about Emma blabbering to her, but that’s the beauty of having a toddler. 

  
  
The again, Ada definitely doesn’t care how she and Killian met, so maybe all she does have is Killian. But that’s okay with her. There’s no one else she’d rather talk about that story with, even if she does think it’s a story good enough to share with anyone with ears, Mickey Mouse or otherwise. Seriously, she could write a movie or something about parts of her life they’re so insane. Who the hell meets their husband because they’re standing in the single riders’ line for the Hulk rollercoaster? No one. Absolutely no one. It’s insane.

 

Maybe she should write the people at Marvel and ask them if she could be in one of their movies. That would probably make her kids pay attention to her. And, you know, it would probably mean she wouldn’t have to keep working as a bail bonds person. That’s not exactly a convenient job to have when you have three kids and your husband doesn’t work normal hours either. At least she can get away with doing research for others at work instead of having to go out into the field herself. There’s only so much she can do while balancing so many different aspects of her life.

 

They should have gone somewhere more relaxing for winter break. They should have gone somewhere and with just she and Killian, the kids staying behind with Mary Margaret. Maybe a beach. It definitely should have been a beach. And her phone could be thrown into the ocean or something. She doesn’t think Verizon covers you if you willingly throw your phone in the ocean. She didn’t check when they switched over to them last month.

 

What they don’t know won’t hurt them. It might hurt her though. She kind of needs her phone to live. That sounds dramatic, but it’s true. She needs her phone to be able to get in touch with Killian and to make sure she knows where all of her children are at any given time. They can all run like crazy, so it’s kind of hard to keep up with them. Hence why she’s trying to have this conversation.

  
  
“Hey,” Killian says, his voice loud enough to reach over their talking, “listen to Mum, guys. We don’t go inside unless we listen to Mum.”

  
  
“Sorry,” they both shamefully admit, looking at her with sheepish yet still happy faces. 

  
  
“It’s okay, guys,” she smiles, looking in the backseat at the smiles on their faces, mouse ears on all three of their heads. They’d insisted on mouse ears, and Killian being Killian, bought each of them the one they wanted even before they got to the park. Declan’s just got on a normal pair, but Hope is all decked out in one covered in sequins while Ada has an actual bow, the ears hurting her head so they compromised. Hope was not happy about it. This is all insane. So insane. She needs a new word. “I know that you’re excited, but this is a very big place with lots of people. And it’s very important to me that at all times you’re either holding onto my hand or daddy’s hand, okay?”

  
  
“Okay, but what about Ada?”

  
  
“What about her, baby?”

  
  
“Is she going to hold onto your hand the whole time?”

  
  
“Yeah,” Ada giggles, and everyone looks at her as she reaches her hand out to Hope, trying to hold her hand. “I hold your hand.”

  
  
Killian chuckles and she reaches her hand over to grasp his forehand, her heart swelling at how sweet her kids are. They’re definitely going to have a meltdown at some point today, but right now they’re sweet. “That’s so good Ada, but you’re going to sit in a stroller. She’s going to sit in a stroller, but if she’s walking around, she’ll hold onto one of our hands, okay?”

  
  
“Okay. When do we get to see Mickey?”

  
  
“This afternoon,” Killian answers vaguely before they’re pulling into the parking lot of the Magic Kingdom. Killian had wanted to do Epcot simply for the alcohol, but that’s not really going to fly with the kids. They’re definitely more interested in seeing the rides based off of their favorite movies.

 

The beach vacation with just them is sounding better and better. She’d even wear one of those awful t-shirts that say “Life’s a Beach” if it meant she got to go. Most of the time she’s kind of thinking that life’s a bitch…okay, most of the time is an exaggeration. She’s just remembering how much it’s costing for all of them to get into this place today.

 

It’s a lot.

 

It also takes longer than she expected to get up to the front gate, having to take a trolley from the parking lot, but with much squirming and squealing and actual wrangling, they’re inside and mixed among thousands of other people walking down Main Street. She’s got a tight hold on Declan’s hand while Killian holds onto the other two, and even though it’s loud, surprisingly hot for January, and crowded, she can feel a bit of excitement running through her veins. The look on her kids’ faces, though, they’re priceless.

 

Okay, so maybe not priceless. She was just thinking about how expensive it was for them to get in here, but she’s totally got to put that behind her and just enjoy the day and the fact that every single on her kids cannot stop talking about the giant castle in front of them or the fact that everything looks like it’s been taken out of their favorite movies. And technically it has, but to them, it’s kind of like they’re getting to be a part of it all.

 

To be a kid and to get lost in the magic of it all.

 

They’re not at all interested in Tomorrowland until they see the Toy Story ride, and their day pretty much starts off with them spending their time in a line. It’s air conditioned though. She lives in Massachusetts. It’s never this hot in October there, but it’s got to be at least ninety degrees here. Florida is ridiculous.

 

(Florida really is, though. Every weird news story comes from Florida.)

 

Why is she acting like she’s never done this before? She loves going to amusement parks. This is going to a fun trip, and she’s going to enjoy it with her family by shooting at these little monsters from Toy Story.

 

“You’ve got a friend in me,” Killian whispers in her ear, the scruff brushing against her lobe and making a shiver run down her spine.

 

“To infinity and beyond or whatever,” she teases as she pecks his cheek.

 

“And you say I’m cheesy.”

 

“You are. Also, Declan and I are totally going to beat you guys when we go through this.”

  
  
“That’s a challenge then, love?”

 

“Most definitely.”

  
  
If she does say so herself, she beats Killian’s ass at the ride, and she’s totally going to use that as a bragging right for the rest of the day. Or at least quietly because Killian was on the same team as Ada and Hope, and she may be rude sometimes, but she’s not about to boast about beating her children…in front of her children. She can do that in secret.

 

After they wander around a little more, Killian going on a small rollercoaster with Declan and Hope, they start wandering to find the Little Mermaid ride. Ada’s been really into that movie lately, and while this trip is really more for her older siblings, she should at least be able to get to do something she likes. It’s kind of hard to find things for a two-year-old, but she’s trying.

 

She’s also trying to find out how to get to the dang ride. There are maps everywhere, but with people crowding around them, the park becoming fuller and fuller as time passes, everything is a bit more difficult, especially when they wander into Fantasyland (She knew the damn mermaid ride existed somewhere. It’s not like Ariel is from Atlantis.) and the entire place is packed with people dressed up in costumes that all look exactly the same. Did they all buy these costumes here? Is that what’s happened? She’s pretty sure that she read about there being some kind of beauty shop here that will do that for the kids. How has everyone already had time to go there? It’s still early.

 

“Hey, babe,” she starts twisting to the side to look for Killian only for him to not be there. She stops in her tracks, turning around to try to find her husband while people yell at her for stopping the flow of traffic. She can’t find him, and the moment she realizes that, her heart quickly pounds in her chest as she checks to make sure that she has all of her kids. Declan’s hand is still in hers, Ada is still in the stroller, and when she looks to her left Hope is walking just up ahead of her. “Hope,” she calls, speeding up to grab onto the back of her jumper. “Hope, baby, come here.”

 

“What?” she laughs, smiling up at her as she pulls her daughter back into her side.

 

“Where’s daddy?”

 

“Um, I don’t know. He told me to come find you.”

 

Well shit.

 

Shoot.

 

No, she’s thinking in her head. She can think shit.

 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

Shoot.

 

“Okay, come here,” she sighs, taking a deep breath and making sure she’s got everyone while her eyes continue to glance around for Killian. She doesn’t see him anywhere. This is so not good. “We’re going to get a snack at –  ” She looks around the park until she sees the Cheshire Café. Seriously? The Cheshire Café? That thing is creepy. Why would anyone want to eat from there? The cat in the movie always kind of looks like it wants to eat Alice. “We’re just going to get something to eat while I call your dad.”

  
  
“Where is Dad?”

 

“I have no idea.”

 

She orders them all food, miraculously finding an empty table near the restaurant, and she sets them all up before calling Killian. Their faces are already so red despite the sunscreen they applied, and it’s just…they need more. She and Killian are not really tan most of the time, and their poor kids are the same way. She’s got so much sunscreen in her bag. She’s pretty sure she bought out all of Target before they came here.

 

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she mutters as she listens to his phone dial ring only for it to disconnect before the voicemail picks up. “What the hell?”

 

“That’s a bad word, Mommy,” Declan points out.

 

Crap. She said that one out loud. And now she’s thinking in terms of crap instead of shit. Someone should really have come up with better curse words and substitutes for curse words. These are…not good. Killian knows a million random words that no one else knows, so he could probably help out in this dilemma that isn’t actually a dilemma.

 

A dilemma, Emma.

 

That kind of rhymes or goes together or whatever.

 

Nope. No. she needs to focus.

 

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

 

She dials Killian’s number three more times, but each time his phone goes to voicemail. He’s either ignoring her and ending the calls immediately or his phone is dead. She’s not sure which one would piss her off more. How in the world can his phone be dead? Just how? The man is the most meticulous person she’s ever met, and she knows how he charges his phone every single night.

 

Where the hell is he?

 

She’s lost her husband in the middle of Disney World. If a kid gets lost, amusement parks have sections for that, but what do they do for men in their mid-forties? Probably nothing because who loses an adult?

 

She does. She loses an adult.

 

“Where’s Daddy?” Declan asks as he pops a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

  
  
“I’m not sure. Hope, when did you last see him?”

  
  
She shrugs, her mouth covered in purple icing from the cookie she’s eating. Did Emma even buy a cookie? She’s not entirely sure that she did. Oh God, she hopes her kids didn’t steal a cookie. This isn’t even the right place for the Cookie Monster. Does the Cookie Monster steal cookies? Does this even matter?

 

“I don’t know. He was there and then he wasn’t. Can I get another cookie?”

 

“No, just one before we eat lunch. And drink some water please.”

 

“Daddy has the bottle.”

 

“Of course he does,” she sighs, hanging her head a bit. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get you guys a water.”

 

_Emma: Where are you?_

_Emma: Answer your phone._

_Emma: Seriously, Killian. Answer the damn phone._

_Emma: We’re sitting by the little Cheshire Cat Café thing if you’re looking for us._

_Emma: I really hope you’re looking for us._

 

The more minutes that tick by, the more she begins to worry. Like, really worry. She wants to go look for him. She knows she could probably find him that way. Hell, her entire job is finding people. But she knows her best chance is staying her and hoping that he finds them. She really needs him to find them. That need grows more and more the longer they stay sitting at this table, all of her kids becoming restless and needing to be able to move around and go on all of the rides that they’re watching pass by.

 

The so-called happiest place on earth isn’t feeling too happy right now.

 

It’s kind of feeling like the crappiest place on earth.

 

Okay, so that was bad even for her. She is not meant to work in advertising.

 

She doesn’t know what to do. She’s in a huge place filled with thousands of people with no way to communicate with Killian. Does Ariel have some kind of shell phone she could use? No, no. the jokes are bad even in her own head. She needs to stop.

 

She needs Killian to show up. How the hell did she lose a fully grown man?

 

Her gaze stays between her phone, her kids, and the crowd, and after about twenty minutes of sitting at the table, a Facebook notification pops up on her phone. She never really uses it, but she’s been in this Disney group for tips and tricks about how to save money and make the best of your trip. It hasn’t really been helpful, but she might as well try this. Desperate times call for desperate measures or whatever.

 

_Emma Jones: This is going to sound odd, but I’m looking for my husband in the Magic Kingdom. His phone is dead, and he somehow got separated from our family. Here’s a picture of us from today, so he’s wearing this outfit. He’s British, if that helps. If anyone sees him, can you send him to Fantasyland and to the Cheshire Café? Thank you._

 

“Oh my God,” she mutters underneath her breath as she messes with her sweater, “this has got to be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever had to do.”

 

“Where’s Daddy?” Declan asks again, and she turns her focus back to her kids.

 

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, shrugging her shoulders before she brings Ada into her lap. “But I’m sure we’ll find him, okay?”

 

“Do we have to wait for him for the rides?”

 

“Um,” she hums, not really sure what to say as her phone buzzes on the table, “yeah.” When all of their lips start quivering, the meltdowns coming, she has to quickly respond before she’s both lost her husband, her mind, and all sense of control. “At least for a little while, and then we’ll go on the Little Mermaid ride, okay? If Daddy doesn’t show up today, we’ll just have to ride things without him and tomorrow he can come with us.”

 

Hope literally groans before she throws her face down on the table, only peeking her eye up to give Emma an evil eye that will never not chill Emma down to her bones. She’s got some crafty kids who can be kind of terrifying.

 

Her phone keeps going off on the table, so she picks it up only to see notifications filling her screen, every one of them from Facebook and none from Killian.

 

(And none for you, Glen Coco.)

 

_Gregory Hart: How do you lose a grown man?_

  
  
_Oliver Judson: This guy was my professor at Harvard, and he’s lost in Disney World. Lmfao._

  
  
_Isabella Santiago: He was mine too! Super hot. I’m pretty sure I showed up to class just to look at him. I almost failed. Lol._

  
  
_Beth Johansson: What does it say about Harvard that their professors can’t keep up with their families? Shameful._

  
  
_Jake Smith: I think I saw him in the Frontierland section, but I don’t know. There’s a lot of guys dressed like him. Blue jeans and a button up are not exactly distinctive. Should have worn a Hawaiian shirt or something._

_Sylar Ng: Okay, time to place bets. Where do you think this guy actually is?_

_Exploring the hall of Presidents? He’s a professor, so probably pretty boring._

_With another woman?_

_With another man?_

_In line for Space Mountain?_

_Stuck on It’s a Small World so he’s about ready to pull his hair out?_

_Eating Dole Whip?_

_Back at the hotel to catch a nap without his kids?_

  
  
_Hannah Hoistler: Have you ever considered this to be a good thing? You can get in the single riders line? That’s like a fast pass to freedom._

_Hannah Hoistler: Oh wait. Forgot about the kids. Never mind._

  
  
_Emma Jones: that’s funny because that’s actually how we met, so while I’m very fond of the single riders line, I do like riding my husband._

  
  
_Emma Jones: *with my husband_

  
  
_Emma Jones: I like riding him, but that’s not anyone’s business. Anyways, someone please help me find my husband._

 

Yeah, she’s officially gone crazy if she’s spending her time talking about her sex life with complete strangers online. Strangers who aren’t exactly helping her find Killian. All of the responses are a little insane, but they’re hilarious. And as stressed as she is right now, this is making her laugh.

 

“Mom,” Declan groans, “we’re never going to go on any rides if we just sit here all day.”

 

She looks at her son, looks at the desperation in his eyes, and really, she can’t keep them sitting her. She just can’t. Killian is a grown man lost in Disney World. It’s not like he’s been kidnapped by Mickey Mouse or something. He’ll figure things out, and she’ll just hope that someone finds him or that they miraculously run into each other in a line or something. It’s happened before, so there’s no reason it can’t happen again.

 

It’s probably not going to happen again.

 

“You’re right, kid. Let’s go.”

 

It’s basically a mad dash to all of the rides and shows from there, even if they end up having to stand in the lines for a little while, even with their fast passes. But her kids’ anticipation for everything is insane, and with the renewed energy they got from the sugar she just fed them (probably not the best move on her part), they don’t mind waiting, especially as they talk to other kids around them about the movies and rides and about just how big Cinderella’s Castle is. Of course, just because Declan and Hope are excited, that doesn’t really mean much about Ada. She conks out around three, and it’s kind of difficult to balance a sleeping toddler in a deeper sleep than Aurora and two kids who could climb Rapunzel’s tower without any kind of assistance from the giant rope of hair or a magic carpet ride or something.

 

But she makes it work. She’s never had to parent alone outside of their usual activities, kind of hopes that she never has to do it again, but after she gets used to it, she kind of masters it. No, she definitely masters it. And they have a fantastic day full of far too much food all of the rides her kids can imagine until they’re watching a parade on Main Street with ice cream in their hands and their feet all tired from moving around the park all day.

 

Seriously, she probably burned off all the calories.

 

Her phone has been going off all day, and while no one has found Killian, her post has apparently been shared over a thousand times, and even without her telling their friends what’s happened, they’ve shared it too. Liam is having a field day with it all.

 

“Swan,” a familiar voice calls, and her head whips to the side so quickly that it hurts. But then she sees Killian moving through the crowd, his hair sticking up like he’s been worriedly running his hand through it, and she’s not sure if she wants to smile at him or slap him. “Oh, my love,” he sighs when he gets to her, immediately squatting down and kissing all of his children’s cheeks before he slants his lips over hers, “where have you all been? I couldn’t find you.”

 

“You’re in trouble, Daddy,” Hope sighs, her eyes never leaving the parade.

 

“Am I now?” he asks her, his eyes filled with worry and his cheeks tinted red. She bets that he didn’t reapply his sunscreen.

 

Wow, she really is such a mom, even if she fully believes everyone should protect their skin.

 

“Where the hell did you go?”

 

“I don’t – I don’t know. My phone fell out of my pocket when we were walking, and I sent Hope up to you while I turned around to get it. It’s absolutely shattered. I’ve spent all day talking to the people in the front office and then looking in every damn section of this park.”

 

“That’s a bad word.”

 

Her kids are really into pointing out cursing today, and she’s not sure if she’s proud of it or annoyed by it.

 

“I know, bud, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry, love,” he whispers to her before kissing her once again. His lips taste like chocolate, and she knows he must have been eating a lot today too. He eats when he’s stressed, which she finds weirdly endearing. “I tried calling on an office phone, but you got the new number when we switched carriers last month and I don’t…”

 

“You don’t know my number?” She slaps his shoulder before shaking her head. “Oh my God.”

 

“I know, I know. And I literally…I haven’t memorized another number besides yours in eight years.”

 

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. They obviously need to stop coming to amusement parks. Or at least know each other’s numbers. She doesn’t know Killian’s new one either, but she isn’t about to tell him that right now.

 

Probably not ever. She’ll memorize it later, and he’ll never have to know.

 

“So after today” she sighs, scooting over and allowing him to sit down in the cramped space next to her before Ada crawls into his lap, immediately snuggling into his chest like the daddy’s girl she is, “I’m kind of thinking that this morning I should have told you to always hold my hand so you don’t get lost.”

 

“I mean, what makes you think this wasn’t an elaborate plan just so I could hold your hand?” he laughs before he twines their fingers together, the float with all of the Aladdin characters going by singing a Whole New World. There’s a pun there. She just knows it. She’s also just too tired to think of it.

 

“Because that would be pathetic.” She squeezes his fingers before bringing his knuckles up to her lips, kissing right over his wedding band. “Also, they’ve had a lot of sugar today. You can be in charge of bedtime.”

 

“I would expect nothing less.”

 

“And, by the way, you’re internet famous today.”

 

He quirks a brow. “What now?”

 

“I’ll tell you about it later, babe. Let’s just enjoy the parade.”

 

He squeezes her hand before leaning over to whisper in her ear, “I will always find you.”

 

“I know, but your efficiency needs work.”


End file.
